The Price You Pay
by Spades
Summary: When a case forces Sherlock to face the Omega nature he hates, John's own Alpha is pushed to the breaking point as he tries to help his friend navigate the dynamics of Alpha/Omega relationships. Will Sherlock come to his senses in time, before he loses John?
1. Don't Share

"Sherlock, I'm back from the conference!" John yelled as he closed the door behind him to the flat.

Setting his suitcase against the wall, he pulled off his jacket and hung it up before walking to the kitchen. He rubbed a hand over his head as he checked the amount of water in the kettle and turned it on. Yawning, he pulled down a mug and started to prep his tea. He waited while the water boiled and poured the hot liquid over the tea bag before leaving the kitchen. Walking down towards Sherlock's bedroom, he knocked and opened the door after not hearing anything. He glanced around and shrugged his shoulders, confirming that Sherlock was apparently not at home. He closed the door again and walked back to the kitchen.

They had been living together for a few months now and everything was going well. It had been tense the first few weeks while John tried to figure out what Sherlock was; an Alpha, Beta or Omega. He finally settled on Beta. He could pick up no distinct scent and he had never seen Sherlock disappear for a few days to deal with his heat. John himself was an Alpha which the consulting detective deduced within the first hour of meeting. John didn't care if Sherlock didn't care.

Checking his phone, there were no new messages from his flat mate. Shrugging his shoulders again, John went back to the kitchen and finished fixing his tea. A few more hours of quiet time without the manic detective would be nice, he mused and carried his mug to his chair. Settling into his seat, he sighed happily and grabbed a nearby book that he had started before leaving.

He only managed to drink half the mug and read three pages before his mobile dingled. Rocking sideways, he pulled out his mobile from his back pocket and glanced at the screen. Seeing that he had a text from Mycroft usually indicated that he was about to be "abducted" or Sherlock was in trouble. John was going with the second option.

Unlocking his mobile, he read the text and knew he wasn't going to finish the tea or the book.

_Black town car. Now. - MH_

Not even bothering to empty out his mug, he set it on the kitchen counter and grabbed for his coat. Briefly hesitating, he sprinted up the stairs while pulling on the coat and grabbed his Browning. The wording of the text made him grab the extra magazine and shove it into his back pocket. As he hurried down the stairs, he slipped the handgun in his waistband at the small of his back. Opening the door, he found a black town car waiting at the kurb just like the text said. Once the door was shut behind him, the car pulled into traffic and John was faced with a dark faced Mycroft and black clad muscle.

"What has he gotten himself involved with now?" John asked after nodding to the stranger.

"Doctor Watson, this is Special Agent Marcus Mordecai with Interpol. Mordecai, this is Doctor John Watson. Doctor Watson is a former Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and a former army surgeon. Top sniper in his class and Victoria Cross recipient," Mycroft introduced and John turned his gaze back to the Special Agent.

The two men stared at each other, sizing each other up quietly. John raised an eyebrow in realization. He hadn't spent time around Sherlock Holmes without picking up a few things. He continued staring at Mordecai as he started speaking.

"Mycroft, you never roll out my accomplishments without reason. There's something going down that you want me included and you're trying to convince...Mordecai, that I won't be a hinderance. Something that includes Interpol means it's international and Mordecai doesn't look like the type to sit behind a desk. You mentioned my combat skills and not my medical skills so Mordecai is leading an assault team into a hot zone and you want me in on the point team."

John turned his gaze to Mycroft. "There are plenty of other combat tested muscle at your disposal but you wanted me. So, again, what has Sherlock gotten himself involved in?"

Mordecai's lips twitched and John knew he hit it on the head. Mycroft looked like he licked a lemon as he turned to look at Mordecai.

"Well?"

"Fine. We'll fit him with a vest and communication kit when we get there."

Mycroft nodded and reached to his side where his briefcase sat. Opening it, he leaned forward and handed John a file. Leaning back, he started talking as John opened the file and started reading.

"A few months ago, Interpol contacted me about an international Omega sex ring that was rumored to have branched into London. I looked into it and found some truth to it. Unbonded Omegas were disappearing through Great Britain. Not enough to alert the authorities but it was occurring. When I went as far as I could through the normal channels, I asked Sherlock to investigate. That was a week and half ago. Five days ago, he texted me that he might have a lead and would let me know within twenty-four hours. That was my last contact with him."

John nodded as he flipped through the surveillance reports and the information compiled by Mycroft's staff. There were suspect photos and blueprints of a large office building. John held them up and glanced at Mycroft.

"Their operation is based in an office building on the twelfth floor. The building also houses the main office of a large import and export business on the thirteenth floor. The Omegas are smuggled in in specially marked crates which are deposited on the twelfth floor while the accompanying imports are moved to the next floor. The...patrons of the twelfth floor have special access cards which gets them on the floor. We've managed to obtain one."

"Alright, fine, but why do you need me?" John asked.

He could see from the file that every option was covered. All exits were covered and phone lines were hacked into. Everything was in place for a quick and clean sweep. So, what fact was John missing?

"We need you to find Sherlock. There's an unknown number of Omegas on that floor and I need someone who knows Sherlock and is known to him," Mycroft replied but wouldn't look John in the eye.

John noticed and set the file to the side as he watched the older Holmes.

"What are you trying not to tell me, Mycroft?"

Mycroft coughed and cleared his throat before turning his gaze to John and holding it.

"Sherlock has been on suppressants all his life and he's been off them since he went missing."

The words ricocheted around John's head as he stared at Mycroft blankly. Suppressants were only used by Omegas to avoid having their heats. Sherlock has been on suppressants all his life. That meant Sherlock was an Omega. Sherlock had supposedly been captured by an Omega sex ring; an international Omega sex ring. Nausea rolled through John and he swallowed tightly to keep his tea down.

"Oh Jesus, I thought he was a beta," John moaned and leaned his head back to rub at his face.

"That's what I get for not asking."

John took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it and straightening.

"Alright, if he went off the suppressants five days ago but has been on them his entire life then it'll take a few days to flush out of his system. Probably cleared his system yesterday or today. If this sex ring is as extensive as you suggest then they've dealt with this before. There's a number of drugs they might be using," John said and realized he was starting to babble.

"We know, John. That's why you're going in with the point team. You'll know Sherlock's scent and he'll know yours. Despite the suppressants, his Omega side will recognize your Alpha scent and you would have subconsciously taken note of his scent. Your job is to find Sherlock and nothing else. The rest of the assault teams will deal with the criminals," Mycroft said and John felt a surge of panic at Mycroft's words.

"Mycroft, I'll need-"

"Before we go active we'll give you a heavy dose of Alpha inhibitors. It'll isolate the Alpha instinct to mark and claim. You'll still have the aggression and ability to scent, just minus the uncontrollable parts that come out around Omegas in heat. Everyone else on my team is either bonded or a beta," Mordecai explained without looking away from the window.

Some of the tension fell from John's shoulders. The aggression he could control and dole it out in small doses when it was required. He looked out the window as the car slowed and turned into a small parking garage. Mordecai was the first out and John slowly followed Mycroft. Touching Mycroft's sleeve, John held him back and stepped closer until he could smell the beta.

"What's the plan for after I find Sherlock?" he asked quietly and pointedly looked at Mycroft.

"Depending on what state he is in, there are a few options available. I have everything ready. You only need to radio me and we'll go from there," Mycroft replied just as quietly and John nodded.

John walked to where Mordecai was speaking with other operatives at the back of a van. Mordecai quickly introduced him as Watson and that he was looking for someone specific. The operatives just nodded in acknowledgement and went back to focusing on Mordecai. One operative with a medic insignia on her sleeve approached John and raised a hypodermic and vial. John glanced at the vial and read the ingredients before nodding to her. Pulling off his coat, he accepted a kevlar vest with one hand while the medic injected the dose in his other arm. John could multitask with the best of them and strapped on the vest while listening to Mordecai describe the plan. He fitted the ear piece and throat mike on his person and made sure he was on the correct frequency. John accepted a handgun loaded with tranquilizer rounds for subduing and detaining Alphas. He kept his Browning at his lower back but only intended to pull it out as backup. When the briefing finished, Mordecai brought over an older bonded Alpha to John.

"Doctor Watson, this is Chase. You'll be paired together until you find your package. Once you do, then you'll stay with the package and Chase will finish clearing the area. Each team will radio when their area is clear."

"Understood," John replied and reached out to shake Chase's hand.

The next twenty minutes flew by quickly. John nodded once to Mycroft who stood by with the communication operative before following the team. They came in through the loading docks and took the service elevator up to the eleventh floor. There they took the stairs until reaching the twelfth floor where John and a few other operatives stopped and the remainder went up to the next floor. The surveillance cameras had been hacked and all motion senses had been deactivated before the two teams breached the door. They entered a dimly lit reception area where one Alpha was seated, flipping through a magazine. Soft classical music played from hidden speakers and a blood red carpet covered most of the floor. Subtle up lighting cast everything in dim shadows. To the left was a hallway with a runner the same blood red coloring.

The Alpha and receptionist hit the floor soon after due to the tranquilizer darts. John had been in fire teams during his time in the army and this team moved with the same level of stealth and speed. They swept through the reception area and broke off in teams of three. From the single hall that ran straight ahead, there were two other hallways, one to the left and one to the right.

Chase and John took the hallway straight ahead. The first two rooms he breached with Chase, John tranquilized a total of three Alphas in rut. The Omegas in those rooms weren't his concern. At the third room, a voice reached John's ears as he opened the door.

"-looks so nice with my handprint. Such smooth, white skin."

A pained groan replied and then a rough voice. "Alpha...need Alpha...my Alpha...John Alpha...bond John...my Jo-John."

Rage surged through John that had nothing to do with his Alpha. His rage was at the broken, confused and whimpered sounds that should never come from Sherlock Holmes. Taking a deep breath, John shaped his rage like he learned in the army and focused it to his limbs. The other Alpha's scent flooded John's nostrils and added to the rage but again, it was manageable.

"You have no bond bite, so no Alpha. I'm going to pound that perfect, leaking hole and have you screaming my name with that posh accent of yours."

John opened the door silently and targeted the seated figure that was in the process of fingering Sherlock. The Alpha was already up to three fingers and Sherlock's body stuttered, trying not to thrust against the intrusion but unable to ignore and suppress his body's instincts.

"Mmmm, Alpha...b-bond, knot, br-...no, John Alpha...only Alpha...John."

"You have no Alpha John. You sound delectable when you're whimpering like that. I just might see about purchasing you for my own private collection."

"I'm his Alpha John and I will not share," John growled before dosing him with three tranquilizer shots just for the hell of it even though one would have been enough.

John turned his head to look at Chase briefly, "He's my package. Finish without me."

Chase hesitated briefly before nodding and continuing his sweep. John turned his attention to his flat mate.

Sherlock was forced in a modern version of a pillory specifically designed for Omegas. He was nude and on his knees with his head and hands locked in the pillory; this also blocked access to his scent gland to prevent any bonds. Large metal bands were locked around his thighs to force his legs to remain open. John's nostrils flared at the scent of an Omega in heat; a familiar Omega. Slick glistened on his spread thighs and his hole twitched in anticipation of penetration. John's Alpha pheromones flooded the room and Sherlock froze before renewing his struggles against his bindings. His skin flushed and a fresh amount of slick gushed from his hole.

"John...my John...please...bond, knot, breed...John...p-please," Sherlock whimpered and John moved to look at Sherlock's face.

John's Alpha instincts were slamming against the chemical barrier. Shaking his head, John focused on his doctor instincts and submerged himself in those. Sherlock had a cut over one eye which had bled down his face and dried. A black eye that was going to turn into a lovely black, blue and purple. Split lip that continued to bleed from Sherlock worrying at it. But what firmly put John's Alpha in place was the fear in Sherlock's eyes. Lust and submissiveness were there but under the haze of lust and drugs was terror. Terror at not really knowing what was going on and not being able to stop it or control it; knowing he couldn't stop it.

Reports were coming through John's earpiece and he vaguely heard 'All clear' as he reached for his throat mic.

"Mycroft, I've found Sherlock. Whatever plans you have are going to be scrapped. I need to get him home."

"Go to channel 14. It's secured."

John rolled his eyes but did as he was asked.

"What state is he in?"

"They've used drugs to force his heat. Physically, he's in full heat. Mentally, not entirely. I see some coherency there," John explained and gently examined the cut and felt around the bruise.

He knew once he released Sherlock from the pillory, the Omega would be crawling all over John begging the Alpha to fuck him; to knot and breed him. John knew he better take the time to look over Sherlock's wounds before he wouldn't be able to.

"I have a bed reserved for him at a clinic where they can help him through his heat."

"No, Mycroft. That's not going to work. I need to get him somewhere familiar to him with scents he's accustomed to or he'll panic and stress," John replied as he inspected the rest of Sherlock's body.

Bruises, the occasional scrape and other small injuries. Nothing needing a visit to hospital for; everything John can fix back at the flat.

"Doctor Watson, I am sure I know what is best for my brother at this point despite what your Alpha is snarling."

John's Alpha was snarling but it was snarling logic.

"I highly doubt that, Mycroft, and I'm the one in here looking at Sherlock and what state he is in. My Alpha is actually very contained right now and is more concerned with ensuring that Sherlock survives this emotionally as well as physically. You said he's been on suppressants all his life. Did he even go through a heat when he presented?"

The line was silent for a moment until, "We had him tested and saw he was an Omega. When he was told he demanded to go onto suppressants."

"So, he's never had a natural heat? Jesus!"

John ran a hand through his hair and dug his nails into his scalp to stay focused. Sherlock's terror made more sense now. He ignored the keening man at his feet and stared at the back of Sherlock's head as he spoke.

"All the more reason I need to take him home, Mycroft. Natural heats are difficult but forced heats are excruciating. When he comes out of it he will be in pain, weak, humiliated and disoriented. The last thing he needs is to be surrounded by scents he doesn't know and an environment he's not familiar with and people he won't know or like. It's a recipe for disaster," John snapped and looked up at movement.

Chase had appeared holding out a warm looking blanket. John nodded his thanks and took the blanket. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, John draped the blanket over Sherlock's body and tried to ignore how his flatmate was still begging John to fuck him. Oh, the car ride back to the flat was going to be so fun.

"John, think about what you are suggesting. You'll have to take the Alpha inhibitors until Sherlock's heat ends. That could be a few days. The drugs were not designed to be used in constant contact with an Omega in heat."

"I don't care, Mycroft! Sherlock needs my help. His Omega has already identified my scent as comfort and safety. This is the best way."

Mycroft sighed heavily and John knew he had won.

"Alright John. I'll have a car ready for you. I'll have Anthea drop of a bag of...supplies along with food and liquids. Take care of my brother Doctor Watson."


	2. Unpleasant Memory

John terminated the call and immediately started to unlock Sherlock from the pillory. The cuffs had cut into Sherlock's thighs and streams of blood were running down his knees and pooling on the ground. Firmly placing his Alpha behind his mental walls, John unlocked the pillory and quickly found himself with a lap full of horny Omega.

"John...Alpha...my Alpha...bond me...knot me...breed me...pups...many pups...please," Sherlock whimpered and ground himself down on John's lap.

Sherlock keened at the sensation to his sensitive hole and reached for John's belt buckle. John grabbed his hands and held them aloft as he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock forcefully. John had spent a few nights with Omegas during their heats. He knew what they needed to get them through it. The forceful kiss had Sherlock fall limply against John; the submissive nature of his Omega side making it difficult to refuse John's Alpha.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of my good Omega," John murmured and wrapped the blanket around Sherlock.

With a grunt, he lifted Sherlock and cradled him against his chest. He hurried from the room and quickly crossed paths with Chase. Seeing the bundle in John's arms, Chase quickly shepherd him towards the elevators and rode with them down to the ground floor. He didn't say a word or even look over at John and Sherlock which John was grateful for. Sherlock was whining and moaning as he mouthed at John's neck. John could feel Sherlock's thighs and buttocks clenching against his arm as he held the younger man. Sherlock would start keening soon for someone to fuck him. John prayed that Sherlock wouldn't remember any of this. He knew the proud young man wouldn't want anyone to know him like this. Needing and submissive, a slave to his body's demands. He could feel his Alpha pacing in his cage, John would have to be careful to take the inhibitors. His self control could only hold out for so long.

Walking out the building, John spared a quick glance at Mycroft who took one look at Sherlock's face and nodded. He saw what John had been talking about. Mycroft held the door open for John and slammed it shut behind the two of them. There was a glass divider between the cab and the back which John was immediately grateful for. Sherlock cast off the blanket and quickly straddled John. His hands started to tug at John's tactical vest that he still wore before John snagged his hands. Moving the hands to his shoulders, John gave him a fierce stare.

"Keep them there."

Sherlock's head bobbed and a moment later he gasped. John's finger slid into his hole smoothly, his personal slick making it easy. It quickly became two fingers and Sherlock started rocking against him. His fingers dug into John's shoulders as he moaned. John wrapped a hand around Sherlock's cock as he added a third finger and mercilessly massaged his prostate. Sherlock cried out and thrashed for a few moments before he orgasmed and froze for a moment before collapsing limply against John. Removing his hands, John wiped them on the blanket and gently lifted Sherlock's head from his shoulder. The younger man's eyelids fluttered briefly but remained lidded from the exhausting orgasm. Sherlock's body wouldn't be happy with that orgasm but it was enough to sate him until they reached the flat. While he was pliant, John lifted his hands from his shoulders and inspected the wrists. Both were bloody and raw, they would need to be cleaned and wrapped soon. Dropping his gaze, he carefully looked at the thigh wounds and knew those would be the most painful. Tilting Sherlock's head again, he brushed his fingertips across the injuries on Sherlock's face and grimaced. He felt the car slow and grabbed the blanket to wrap it gently around Sherlock.

The door opened and John carefully stepped out of the car holding Sherlock tightly against him. Anthea stood at the door with her head bowed and her Blackberry at her side.

"I have placed a few days worth of sustenance in your flat as well as some toys to help with Sherlock. There is a cooler with the Alpha inhibitor. The compound starts to lose it's effectiveness after eight hours, less depending on how strong the Alpha is. It's recommended that the drug not be used back to back," Anthea said quickly with her gaze lowered, not antagonizing the restrained Alpha.

John nodded and walked to the door which Anthea opened quickly to allow him entrance with his precious burden. John would look over the chemical compound later to read up on the side effects. He felt he would become very familiar with them. "Mrs. Hudson went to visit her sister and will not return until you call her. Thank you, Doctor Watson."

John stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back to Anthea. She seemed reluctant to speak but quickly made up her mind.

"The facilities to help Omegas during heats are not pleasant. This will be much better for Mr. Holmes. You are a good friend."

John flared his nostrils and immediately understood. Anthea was an Omega. She was on suppressants but being this near to a fellow Omega in heat increased her own personal scent. John nodded briefly but the Omega in his arms started moaning again and his attention shifted. He heard the door behind him close securely as he carried Sherlock up the stairs. Kicking the door closed, John carried Sherlock to the genius' bedroom and set him on the bed. The familiar scent would help calm him hopefully. Hurrying back to the kitchen, John grabbed the two large duffel bags and cooler and carried them back to the bedroom.

Sherlock was rutting against the bed and keening to get his Alpha back. John opened one bag and found it stuffed with energy and protein bars and bottles of water. Grabbing a water, John opened it and sat on the edge of the bed.

"John...John, please...fuck me...knot me," Sherlock moaned with a whimper.

"I will, Sherlock, I will but first I need you to drink some water. There we go, good Sherlock," John murmured and held the bottle with one hand while holding Sherlock's head with his other hand.

He managed to get Sherlock to drink half the bottle before the Omega refused until he was fucked. John knew the easy path out of this. The easy path was to not take the Alpha inhibitor, give Sherlock what he was begging for and fuck him. But with the drugs still pulsing through the Omega's bloodstream and corrupting his mental capacity, John knew he wasn't able to give proper consent. And John was not going to rape his friend which is what it boiled down to for him. John could manage this.

Digging through the bags again, John pulled out an Omega dildo with an active knot at the base. Confirming that it had batteries, John pushed Sherlock back to the bed and kissed him hard while easing the dildo into his leaking hole. John swallowed the moan that burst from the younger man's lips. Releasing his lips, John kissed and nibbled his way down Sherlock's body listening to the pants and groans coming from above him. He gently eased the dildo in further as he licked the pebbled nipple. Once he reached the leaking cock, John was slipping the dildo in and out quickly. The choked off cries coming from the flushed body under him were enticing to his Alpha who was not happy about the situation. Oh, it grudgingly understood the need; it could smell the chemicals flowing through the body. But it wasn't happy about the outcome.

Sherlock was moaning and panting as John sped up and Sherlock grabbed at John's neck. His blunt nails gouged sharply into the tense muscle and John flinched but didn't stop. John swallowed down Sherlock's cock and felt it hit the back of his throat. Sherlock jerked under his hands and clawed at John's upper back. Just as he felt Sherlock start to orgasm, John thrust the dildo in deeply and flipped the switch at the base of the toy to expand the fake knot. The full body spasm almost knocked John off the bed as Sherlock screamed and arched into the sensations. Come pulsed into John's mouth and he swallowed it down, humming as he did so. Sherlock's hands slid from John's neck and flopped weakly onto the bed. John straightened and left the knotted dildo in Sherlock. Brushing a hand over the back of his neck, it came back bloody which caused John to cringe.

Yeah, it was going to be a long few days.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock groaned and then wanted to groan again. Even groaning hurt. He immediately knew he was safe though. The sounds he could hear identified Baker Street; he smelled his scent everywhere. He was sprawled out on his front in his bed and he had no memory of how he got there. With his eyes still closed, he evaluated his body. Blanket over him and pulled up to his lower back; nude underneath the blanket. Slight muscle weakness all over his body. Generalized pain but focused around his shoulders, thighs, wrists and his arse. Dehydrated, he mused and swallowed tightly. He felt grungy; like he hadn't had a good full body wash in a few days.

Knowing he couldn't get any other valuable data like this. Sherlock slowly opened the eye that wasn't pressed into his mattress. His room eventually came into focus as well as one of his wrists. It was wrapped in a clean white bandage and he slowly drug his wrist towards him hoping that a closer inspection would give him clues.

"Sherlock?"

The man in question twitched before the voice registered. John, safe John. His arm curled under his torso and helped lift his upper body just enough that he could turn his head to look at the other man. John was reclining in a chair with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Upon reading the confusion on Sherlock's face, John set aside his tea and book to move and sit on the edge of Sherlock's bed. Taking the limp arm that still rested next to Sherlock's body, he felt for his pulse at his elbow while taking in Sherlock's expression.

"How do you feel?"

Sherlock slowly licked his lips and grimaced at how dry his mouth was.

"John," he croaked.

Understanding, John leaned forward and helped Sherlock roll over and stuffed a few pillows under his head and shoulders. Seeing that Sherlock was inclined slightly he collected a bottle of water from the nightstand and helped the younger man drink from it. Taking his fill, Sherlock sagged weakly against the pillows and groaned again as he clenched his eyes shut.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock just grunted slightly and eventually opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom.

"What happened?"

John hesitated before going a safer route.

"A lot of shit. What do you remember?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he struggled to piece together his memory. He was investigating a case, went to a warehouse, was knocked over the head and then it got hazy afterwards. He remembers heat, a burning heat, a throbbing need that was never satisfied; pain, both internal and external. But no memory that was clear or solid.

"I remember investigating a case at a warehouse...someone jumping me...then…" Sherlock tries to dig for the memories but they were dancing just out of his reach.

John nodded before standing. "That's okay. It'll take some time for the memories to come back. I'm going to get you some juice and then draw you a bath. I'll be right back."

John leaves the bedroom and Sherlock makes it a goal to actually be vertical and sitting on the edge of his bed by the time he gets back. Rolling onto his side, he braces himself with one hand and slowly pushes up until his elbow and arm can lock under him. Eyeing the edge of the bed, he slowly moves his legs towards it and freezes while biting his bottom lip at the sudden throb of pain that the movement caused. Taking a few shallow breaths, he moves slowly to the edge of the bed and pulls aside the duvet to look down at his body. Bandages were wrapped around his thighs and bruises decorated his hips and ribs. Eyeing a scattering of bruises at his left hip, Sherlock gently brushes his fingertips over the discolorations before recognizing the pattern. Using his own hand, he lays each of his own fingers over a bruise and despite the difference in size, it is a hand print. Someone gripped his hips hard enough to leave deep bruising. Swallowing tightly, he jerked his arm away and heard the water start in the attached bath.

John appeared in the doorway holding a tall glass of juice which he handed to Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed at it but his muscles were too weak to support the full glass. It started slipping from his grip but thankfully John anticipated the move and was there to catch it. Juice slopped over the edge and trickled down John and Sherlock's arms. Sherlock was appalled at his lack of grip and his expression must have been visible to John.

"It's alright, Sherlock. You've been down and out for a few days. It's going to take your body a few hours to come back online. Here, I'll help you," John said softly and supported the glass while Sherlock directed it.

Once the glass was empty, Sherlock started to feel a bit more steady. John helped him drink a bit of water before disappearing back into the loo. He reappearing quickly and squatted in front of Sherlock.

"There's a bath drawn. Let me know if you need help washing up. I'll bring you some pajamas and look over your wounds once you get out. Do you need some help getting there and into the bath?" John asked and kept his hand on the edge of the bed to keep his balance.

Sherlock noticed this and was thankful for John's insight. He wasn't able to tolerate uninvited touch right now. Sherlock evaluated the state of his body and his abilities up to now definitely suggested that he would need help. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and tensed slightly as John reached for him. John wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him stand where Sherlock wobbled for a moment before finding his balance. They moved slowly towards the loo and steaming bath. Next to the tub was a few bottles of water and a plate of sliced fruit with some chunks of cheese.

"I'm fine, John. You don't need to coddle me," Sherlock grumbled as John set him on the closed toilet lid.

"Yeah, well, when you can hold a glass yourself and walk across the room without wobbling, I'll stop coddling. Let's get those bandages off."

Sherlock watched as John carefully cut away the gauze from around his wrists and thighs. The injuries had started to heal so original injury occurred three to four days ago. As John finished unwrapping his right thigh, John's scent wafted up to Sherlock's nose and that combined with the sight of his injuries broke the barrier to his memories. Sherlock's head jerked back startled as the memories bombarded his mind.

Drugs being injected before he was stripped of his clothes and shoved into a small cage. Feeling a burning heat race under his skin followed by painful sensitivity. Slick started to trickle from his arse and moaning as his lower body clenched in agonizing need. Hands grabbing at him to drag him out of the cage and not being able to support his own weight as he was drug somewhere. He remembered the feel of steel being locked around various parts of his body and then fingers. Fingers probing and reaching deeply inside him. Words danced through his mind and a sickening Alpha smell. Not the scent he wanted or needed. Then John's kind eyes and face were there. Relief at the Alpha that he wanted and knowing he was safe finally. The Omega in him purred contentedly at the aroma of John.

Sherlock came back to John holding his face and calling his name. "Sherlock! Sherlock, focus on me and breath."

Sherlock suddenly realized he was close to hyperventilating. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and the only thing he could focus on was the hands holding his face and the soothing scent of John. He never needed an Alpha to calm him down. What was wrong with him? His stupid and useless Omega side was taking over. He wrenched his head out of John's grip and glared over John's head at the door behind him. His fingers dug into the porcelain under him to ground himself.

"Leave, John."

In his peripheral vision, Sherlock saw John's confusion and his mouth opened to speak.

"Just...leave me be, John."

John's mouth closed and he swallowed before nodding. He stood and turned to the door.

"Alright. Uh, be sure to clean the injuries with soap. Once you dry off, call me and I'll-"

"I'll treat my own wounds and bandage them. I don't need you to help."

Sherlock didn't look at John as the older man nodded jerkily and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sherlock breathed in the humid air and released his grip on the toilet under him. Sagging weakly to the side, he braced himself on the edge of the tub and rubbed his free hand over his face. Dropping his hand to his lap, he stared blankly at the still water in the tub before carefully moving towards the tub. He slowly lowered himself into the steaming water and hissed softly as the water lapped over his injuries. Once the pain faded, the heat from the water soothed his muscles and he groaned at the blissful feeling. Twisting his knees to the side, he was able to keep his entire lower body submerged under the water. He wished he could sink completely under and just disappear. Wipe the memory of the past few days from everyone's memories. Him, Sherlock Holmes, forced into a heat. Forced to beg for something he really didn't want. Forced to be needy and subjugated under an Alpha. The fact that it had been John to witness and help him through it was mortifying. He could only hope that John wouldn't let whatever he saw or heard color his opinion of Sherlock. Sherlock wouldn't let it affect him. He would lock it all away. Carry on like normal. Continue with the Work and ignore everything else.


	3. Data

A week and a half later the flat at 221B Baker was a practical no man's land. John's aggression had multiplied ten fold and he was plagued by insomnia. All of this, he knew, was a side effect from the Alpha inhibitors he had taken back to back. John had started jogging to safely release some of the aggression but jogging wasn't what the Alpha wanted. Mycroft had simply handed John a business card directing him to a nearby gym. When John arrived, he found four former military Alphas as well as a medic waiting for him. What had followed was basically a knock down, drag out fight with the Alphas which left all five of them needing aid from the medic. John hoped it would only be a one time thing but the next day he could feel the aggression building again. Each time Mycroft handed him a card there would be a new group of Alphas and a new medic waiting for him. It seemed to work out fairly well except for one vital part. The Alpha inhibitors also retarded his healing abilities. The scratches he had from Sherlock were still red and raw. The injuries from the gym were quick to bruise darkly but slow to clear. It created a vicious cycle: siphon off the Alpha's aggression but get injured in the process and then the pain from the injuries increased the Alpha's aggression. He would have worried about trying to hide it from Sherlock but the genius solved that himself.

Sherlock would practically flee the flat if John was in it. He either stayed in his bedroom or left just as soon as he heard John's footsteps. When he couldn't avoid being in the same room as John, he studiously refused to look directly at the man. He could see him from the corner of his eye and kept the requests and statements brief and to the point. It was left to Mrs. Hudson to ensure that Sherlock ate something. John had tried to help but his Alpha seemed intent on Sherlock's scent and it became harder for John to control the lust when he was near Sherlock. John had been in contact with the manufacturer of the Alpha inhibitor and was trying to find a solution but there seemed to be no straight answer. Well, there was one but John wasn't even considering it.

Climbing the stairs from his last bout with the Alphas, John paused and pressed a hand to his outer right thigh where a dark bruise was starting to form. His body was decorated with manageable bruises, but this one would make walking a bit painful for a while. Breathing harshly through his clenched teeth, he started up the stairs and pushed open the door to the flat and froze, hearing an unknown noise. Tilting his head slightly, he waited for the sound again and quickly identified it. The sound of retching was unmistakable.

"Sherlock?" he yelled and followed the sounds.

In his rush to get to the toilet, Sherlock had failed to close and lock the door behind him which was his usual modus operandi. John slowly pushed it open and found the consulting genius crumpled on the floor in front of the toilet, clutching the bowl's rim and retching. From the visible tension in his neck and the sweat staining the back of his shirt, John could tell that Sherlock had been here for a while. Stepping over the trembling form, John grabbed a flannel and ran it under the cool water. Taking a deep breath, John clenched his teeth against the aroma of Sherlock and bent over the dark haired man. Pulling up the collar of his shirt, he swiped the cool cloth over the back of his neck and as far down his back as he could go. Feeling Sherlock lunge for the toilet again, John moved the cool cloth to Sherlock's forehead and held it there as Sherlock retched. When that wave ceased, John rewet the flannel and swiped it across Sherlock's face.

"Talk to me, Sherlock. How long have you been retching?" John pressed as he reached with his free hand for the ear thermometer.

"About...seventeen minutes," Sherlock muttered and slowly straightened before sagging weakly against the front of John's legs.

His head thumped against the top of John's thigh as John reached out to flush the toilet with one hand while he wiped the flannel across Sherlock's mouth.

"Did you eat something that was off? When was the last thing you ate?"

Sherlock breathed heavily as he dug through his memories. "Soup. Last night. Mrs. Hudson's."

John gently pressed the thermometer into Sherlock's ear and pressed the button.

"Alright, did you play at morgue? Mess with some chemicals? Take anything that could have caused this?" John asked and draped the cool flannel over the back of Sherlock's neck before carefully peeling back one of Sherlock's eyelids.

Pupils were reactionary. The thermometer beeped and a quick glance told John that Sherlock had an elevated temperature but wasn't high enough to even warrant the term fever. His mild panic and focus on his medical assessment was allowing him to ignore Sherlock's tempting aroma. As long as he didn't think about it it would be okay.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyeballs were twitching and shifted under his fluttering eyelids. John's first thought was seizure but Sherlock's body was relaxed. Relaxed against his legs with his dark head very near to John's groin. Yeah, Sherlock was relaxed; John was anything but. But no, this was Sherlock flipping through his memory banks the past few hours, looking for anything out of the ordinary that could have caused this.

"I started taking my suppressants again," he murmured and heard John sigh above him.

"Sherlock, as much as you're going to hate hearing this. You need to let your body go through a natural heat cycle before you can go back onto your suppressants. If you keep taking them now you're going to continue being sick. Basically, it's biology's way of saying up yours," John said and nodded at Sherlock's groan.

"You're going to have to make plans to spend your heat with someone or spend it locked in your room with toys."

Sherlock craned his head back to look at John. John tried not to flinch when the movement against his thigh caused the skin to pull over the bruise. The doctor actually seemed serious and the detective raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"I'm serious, Sherlock," John said and nudged his knee against Sherlock's back to make the younger man sit up.

John stepped away and pulled the flannel from Sherlock's neck to toss it into the sink. He continued into the hallway and breathed in the air, momentarily free of the delicious Omega scent. Steeling his resolve, he turned back to look at Sherlock and found the consulting detective staring at him with his deducting focus.

"John?"

John huffed softly and gritted his teeth a moment before rolling his shoulders. His Alpha knew the scent that was wafting towards him. It was the scent of the Omega he was denied. The scent of the one he wanted. The Alpha threw itself against John's walls, causing the older man to take another step back. He rubbed at the bruise on his thigh and the pain pulled the Alpha's attention away from Sherlock.

"Where did you get your injuries?"

John paused before straightening his spine.

"None of your concern, Sherlock. Leave it."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed as he looked over John's body again. When did the initial injuries occur? Why did Sherlock never notice? Because he wouldn't look at John, Sherlock snapped sharply at himself. He watched as John turned slowly and limped towards the kitchen. The stiff line of his spine indicated that John wasn't in the mood to discuss his injuries. The fact that Sherlock hadn't notice the injuries until now rankled him. The fact that the injuries were on John's body rankled him more.

"John, you're moving with practiced caution. You've been injured for several days and have grown accustomed to it. In fact, you seem to welcome the pain. Why?"

"Leave it, Sherlock. I'm working through a few things," John said and started making a cup of tea.

John did not want to be having this conversation. Least of all with the person that was responsible for the state he was in. No, that wasn't right. Sherlock didn't force John to use the Alpha inhibitor. Sherlock didn't force his heat. Didn't force John to take care of him. John could have handed Sherlock over to Mycroft and to the facility and have been done with it. But no, John had to be the good friend. The good friend that helped all his friends and then had the same friends walk all over him.

"Working through a few things? Is that code for fucking an Omega that likes it more rough than you're used to? I see the scratches on the back of your neck. He's rough but you stay with him. Can't figure out how to break it off? Or tried to break it off and he didn't take it well. He must have really torn into you," Sherlock snapped, following John into the kitchen.

John's control of the situation dissipated. The Alpha was furious at the suggestion that it had been with someone else. The same person accusing the Alpha of cheating was the one the Alpha had claimed and been denied. John's hand wrapped around Sherlock's throat and shoved him against the stained glass divider. The Alpha growled in warning and lifted Sherlock a few inches off the ground. Sherlock's gasp didn't reach John's consciousness as the Alpha stepped close and buried his nose into Sherlock's stomach. The muscles tensed under the sensation and Sherlock stopped breathing as John rubbed his face against the shirt. Sherlock's fingers wrapped around John's forearm and he squeezed the taut muscle. Thankfully John wasn't squeezing, he was just holding Sherlock up against the wall. John's free hand pushed up under Sherlock's shirt and drug his nails lightly down Sherlock's sensitive skin. He gasped and then moaned before he could stop it. Why was he moaning? He should be furious at John for manhandling him. But was he really furious? His Omega was purring with delight at the blatant display of dominance from his Alpha. Wait, his Alpha? John was not his Alpha. Sherlock did not need an Alpha. He needed to put a stop to the scenting that John's Alpha seemed intent on performing. Tightening his abdomen, Sherlock curled his lower body up and shoved his knees into John's stomach and chest to shove him away. The hand left his throat and he dropped to the floor with a gasp. He stumbled against the wall and slid down to the floor. John staggered away from him as Sherlock brushed fingertips against his bruising throat. The kitchen was silent as John and Sherlock stared at each other.

"Sherlock? What just happened?" John asked softly and Sherlock scowled at him.

"Your Alpha just assaulted me, John. I hope that Omega you're seeing can control it," Sherlock snapped as he struggled to his feet.

John blanched upon seeing the bruises on Sherlock's throat. He ignored Sherlock's comment about a man. John knew that wasn't the issue. He wished it was that simple. God, his Alpha was getting out of control. He backed against the counter and braced his hands on the edge while his legs threatened to buckle. This whole situation was getting out of control. He was starting to become feral; bit by slow bit.

"Sherlock...I'm so sorry. It wa-"

"Save it, John. You had better get your Alpha under control or we'll have to rethink our living arrangement," Sherlock snarled while his Omega was wailing in the back of his mind.

Sherlock needed some fresh air. He grabbed his coat and pulled it on while walking to the stairs. Coming around the corner he found John standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching him. Moving towards the stairs Sherlock was startled to suddenly find himself pinned against the wall on the landing. John's hand was pressed against his chest and his nose was nudging at Sherlock's neck just at his bonding gland. Feeling a tongue bathe the skin broke Sherlock's tenuous grip on his calm. His instinctual panic overrode the moaning Omega in him and he shoved John away. His arm followed the motion and before he could stop himself he punched John. He saw the blood a moment before he clattered down the stairs. He had to get away; needed fresh air that didn't smell of Alpha. An Alpha that he secretly wanted more than the Work and that wasn't acceptable.

The cool air was a refreshing change and he decided to forego the cab to walk. Taking in deep lung fulls of crisp air, his long legs soon took him far away from the flat. The distance allowed him the chance to rethink the events that just occurred. John never had any trouble controlling his Alpha nature before this. What changed? When did it change? As Sherlock thought over the past few weeks he realized he couldn't really pinpoint when it changed. He was so stringent in staying out of John's way and avoiding him that he hadn't really noticed any dramatic change in behavior. So he could only believe that it started after Sherlock's kidnapping and forced heat.

His musings stopped when he recognized the slim figure standing on the kerb next to an idling black town car. Anthea's hands were clasped behind her back and her dark glare was piercing Sherlock as he approached. Other people flowed past them as he slowed and stopped a few feet away from her.

"Mr. Holmes, please get in the car."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Tell your boss to bugger off. I don't have time for him."

Sherlock took a few steps past her.

"Let me rephrase that, Mr. Holmes. Get in the car now. It's not a request."

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. She glared back at him until he turned and approached the car. He looked down at her and despite towering over her he suddenly felt about ten centimeters tall. The look she was giving him burned hotly in his chest. With a sniff he slid into the town car and settled himself in the seat. The town car slid into traffic and he ignored the woman sitting across from him as they rode to Mycroft's office. When they arrived at the imposing building, Sherlock reached Mycroft's office first and barged through the door. His brother was seated at his desk calmly writing and didn't glance up at the abrupt arrival. Anthea closed the door behind her and stood silent as Sherlock stood in front of the desk.

"What do you want Mycroft?"

Mycroft ignored the query until he finished writing and then pushed the sheet to the side before leaning back in his chair. He clasped his hands over his abdomen and swept his gaze over his brother.

"I simply wished to know how my dear brother was doing," Mycroft replied and stood to move around the desk.

"You could simply have texted or called. No, this is something else. Something you want to know or want me to know. It's something you're enjoying hanging over my head. So, let's cut to the chase and just tell me what it is. I don't have the time or patience," Sherlock snarled as he turned his head to track Mycroft's movements.

"How's the health? Eating well? Getting enough sleep?" Mycroft asked as he poured himself a drink and turned to watch his brother.

"Mycroft," Sherlock growled.

"How is your doctor doing, Sherlock?"

The corner of Sherlock's eye twitched before he answered.

"First of all, he's not my doctor. Second, he's at the flat or with his new Omega getting marked. If he doesn't bond with this Omega, Mycroft, you're going to find him a new flat. He tried to scent me earlier; his Alpha is out of control," Sherlock snapped and turned away to ruffle his hair with one hand.

"And why do you think that?"

"How should I know? It's not like I'm his Omega."

"And such a pity, that," Mycroft mused while staring into his glass.

"What? I do not need an Alpha, Mycroft. I do not need or want an egotistical, pompous, cock proud Alpha trying to tell me what to do," Sherlock roared and stared down his brother.

Mycroft was slowly swirling his glass to make the ice cubes clink softly as he watched his brother. Anthea quietly approached from behind Sherlock but the detective didn't spare her a glimpse. Sherlock was spoiling for a fight and he really wasn't sure why.

"Sir?" Anthea spoke and Mycroft's gaze darted to the woman before darting back to Sherlock.

His gaze dropped to his half full glass and faked a look of surprise. "Oh, look, I need a refill."

Mycroft turned his back and Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion. The glass was obviously half full. He turned to look at Anthea and just as their gazes locked his head snapped to the side and his left cheek burned. The loud slap echoed through the room and Sherlock staggered at the strength behind the blow. His shocked gaze found Anthea and her furious expression before he looked back to Mycroft. His brother was staring into the bottom of his glass and admiring the alcohol's legs apparently. Useless, he thought to himself. When he turned back to Anthea, she let her other hand fly and Sherlock's head jerked to the other side. Both cheeks now flamed with a burning heat.

"What the hell?" Sherlock started but snapped his mouth shut when Anthea raised her hand again.

"Now you listen here, you foolish child. You have no idea what John Watson has done for you and is still doing for you. But you don't care about that and you don't care about him. It's all about you and how all this affects you. You are not the center of the universe and until you realize that, you are going to be in a world of hurt," Anthea snapped as her darker side started to show.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Anthea shushed him quickly while pointing a finger at Sherlock's face. "You don't deserve John Watson; I hope you know that. You will...never...deserve John Watson."

Anthea pulled her hand back and straightened her suit top, the image of cool and collected now. She turned and departed the office, leaving the two brothers behind. One was still staring into his glass and the other was holding a cheek while staring after the woman. Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft and suddenly had a bit of appreciation for whom Mycroft worked with daily.

"Mycroft?"

The older Holmes sighed before walking to his desk. He picked up a file and handed it to Sherlock as he took a sip of his scotch.

"Read it and go back to your doctor. You need to talk with him."

Sherlock was dazed enough by the turn of events that he left the office without a snide comment. It was chillier when he exited the office building and he waved down a cabbie. Once ensconced in the back of the cab he opened the file and started reading the documents. The file contained images of John in a fighting ring with four other men. There was a material safety data sheet for an Alpha inhibitor compound that Sherlock easily understood with his background in chemistry. He read in the notes how many doses John was supplied with and how many were returned afterwards. There was a blurry snapshot of John carrying Sherlock out of the office building where the sex ring was located. By the time the cab pulled up to the flat Sherlock felt a little nauseous with the idiotic assumptions he had made. Now he needed to see the physical proof.

Paying the cabbie, he tucked the folder under his arm and slowly walked up the steps. Letting himself in he heard Mrs. Hudson's telly, but silence from upstairs. Going up the stairs, he glanced at the coat rack and saw John's coat hanging there. Sherlock was comforted by the fact that John hadn't left the flat. One lamp was on but everything else was shut off. A glance into the kitchen only told him that after he left John had a cup of tea and nothing else. Walking to the telly, he placed the back of his hand against the screen and it was cold. So he didn't sit up and watch telly, Sherlock mused as he pulled off his coat and scarf to hang them by the door. He took the folder with him and slowly climbed the stairs towards John's room. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears and he hysterically wondered if John could hear it. John's door was closed and Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment before knocking. There was no reply and he waited an appropriate length of time before knocking again.

"I know you're in there, John. We need to talk," Sherlock called and pressed the palm of his hand against the door while the other hand held the knob.

"Go away, Sherlock. I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Well too bad. We're talking whether you're in the mood or not."

"I'm not getting up to get the door so do what you want."

Sherlock twisted the knob and felt resistance from the locking mechanism. He growled and reached into his back pocket to pulled out his basic lock picking kit. It only took him a few seconds before the lock released; he quickly put away his kit before pushing the door open.

The room was dark except for the faint light coming from the window and it took a few moments for Sherlock's eyes to adjust to the lack of light. His flat mate was stretched out on his bed with one leg bent and his heel tucked against his arse. One arm was resting across his abdomen and the other was draped across his eyes. Sherlock hesitated on the threshold and wondered how to go about starting the conversation. John was the socially adept of the two. Swallowing tightly, he pulled the file from under his arm and fingered the edge before speaking.

"I need to know what happened, the night you collected me from the sex ring."

John grunted as Sherlock slowly advanced and sat on the corner of the bed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because it has been brought to my attention that I may have...misread some clues," Sherlock muttered and watched as John's arm moved from his face and dropped to his side.

Sherlock's gaze followed the appendage and blinked at the dark liquid that stained the fabric over John's thigh.

"John?"

Sherlock reached out and pressed his hand against the liquid and brought it back into the meagre light. His throat seized at the obvious blood and his panic was almost more than he could tolerate.

"John! You're bleeding! What happened?" Sherlock asked and shifted to look for the injury.

John snorted and slowly opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. "I happened. I cut myself."

Sherlock pulled aside the pieces of trousers to look at the injury. Yeah, cut was the best description for it. The "cut" was roughly five inches long and was sluggishly oozing blood. Setting aside the file, Sherlock reached under the bed and groped for John's field kit. He didn't have to question if it was there; he knew John's medical habits and Army training. Setting it beside himself Sherlock opened the bag and started pulling out supplies.

"Why did you cut yourself?"

"Pain helps me control the Alpha. It's the only thing that works nowadays."

"Why didn't you take care of it?" Sherlock questioned and started to clean the injury.

"Because my injuries aren't healing, Sherlock," John muttered and his hands twitched as Sherlock wiped the blood away from the injury.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked but was more intent on the injury.

John sighed and moved swiftly away from Sherlock's reach. He stood and stripped off his jumper and vest. Slapping on the overhead light, he faced Sherlock and spread his arms wide.

"This is what I'm talking about, Sherlock."

Sherlock knew he must have looked like an idiot at that point. He was still holding the square of gauze and staring at John blankly. His torso was mottled with black and blue marks. All of the bruises were in various stages of healing but none made sense. Some of the marks were weeks old but looked fresh. Painfully fresh. Across one pec were four angry red lines which complimented the similar four lines that curled over John's shoulder from his back. Along his collarbone and neck were perfect bruises in the shape of teeth. Sherlock couldn't see a spot of skin that wasn't bruised to a degree. He had a grim feeling that John's legs were also bruised and marked.

"These bite marks? Yours. These claw marks? Yours. The bruises are from the other Alphas that I allow to beat me to a bloody pulp so I don't jump and rape you in the middle of the fucking street," John snarled and spun away to storm from his room.

Sherlock stared blankly as John staggered against the desk chair and leaned against it. He brought a hand to his forehead as he shook his head as if to clear something.

"John?"

"I'm fine...dizzy all of a sudden," he mumbled and moved to take another step.

Sherlock shoved everything off his lap as John started to crumple towards the floor. Sherlock couldn't stop John's body from hitting the floor but did manage to catch John's head before it made impact. Easily sliding to his knees at John's head, he spun to the side and leaned over to press his ear to John's bare chest. His eyes watched the chest moving with steady breaths as he listened to the steady heartbeat. Slipping his arms under John's limp body, Sherlock struggled to his feet and carried John to the bed. He could feel heat radiating off John's body as he worked to pull off John's trousers and pants. He cleaned the scratches along John's torso, back and neck before rubbing in cream. Finishing what he could for John's body, he pulled up the blanket that was folded neatly at the foot of the bed and covered his friend. Before he could move away, a firm grip on his wrist stopped him and he looked quickly to John's face. He was still unconscious but had reached out for Sherlock on instinct. Raising his eyebrows, Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and reached with his free hand to try and pry John's fingers loose. Just as he started to pull at one finger a deep grumble reached his ears. Freezing for a moment his gaze darted to John and saw he was still asleep. He watched as he tried to pull the finger loose and again heard the grumble but also saw the twitch of a snarl start on John's face. 'Hm, interesting,' Sherlock mused before making a quick decision.

Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed a nearby book that John insisted was good fiction and climbed onto the bed to sit beside John. The grip on his wrist did not ease and despite flipping through the pages of the book he didn't read the words. His mind poured over everything Mycroft had given him in that file. Everything John had been displaying the past few weeks correlated with what he read in the file. Basically, John's Alpha had been denied an Omega in heat so the Alpha never really came out of rut. It was churning under John's skin and in his subconscious. The fact that Sherlock was only noticing this now after a few weeks proved how tight John had kept control of his Alpha.

While his thoughts had been rambling he didn't realize that John had released his wrist and he was now gently brushing his fingertips along John's temple. He thought about ceasing the action and leaving the bedroom but his chest tightened at the thought. It was...soothing for himself to stay in contact with John. Sherlock gave up on the illusion of reading that horrid book and tossed it aside as his head tilted back and thumped against the wall behind the bed. Over the past week and a half he had taken note of changes in his own state of being. He became more attuned to where John was in the flat whenever they both happened to be there. That was one of the reasons why he would flee the flat. He was always aware of where John was but now he felt the need to be near him. To see him with his own eyes to confirm that his mate was nearby. That was the other troublesome thing: Sherlock would find himself thinking of John as his mate, his Alpha. It was disgusting but sadly the small Omega part of his brain was purring and writhing in pleasure at the thought of John as his Alpha. He didn't spare John a glance when the man turned into him and buried his nose into Sherlock's hip and draped his arm across Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock must have dozed off for a while because he jerked awake when the head under his hand moved slightly. Blinking to clear his vision, he looked down and found blue eyes looking up at him in confusion.

"Sherlock?"

John's voice was raspy and he cleared his throat as Sherlock rubbed the back of his head.

"You fainted last night. I treated all your wounds the best I could." Sherlock hesitated but knew he had to ask. "Tell me what happened."

John sighed and went to roll onto his back. He held his breath at the movement but was eventually flat on his back next to Sherlock. Sherlock's hand fell away from John's head and landed gently on his shoulder. John's hand however was out from under the blanket and rested on Sherlock's trouser clad knee. He didn't seem to realize it was there, not even when his fingertips started rubbing small circles on the patella.

"When I found you, you were locked in a pillory and some Alpha was fingering you. Nothing else had been done to you from what I could tell but that was enough. I shot him full of tranquilizers and went to you. I could tell immediately they had drugged you to force your heat. I saw the terror in your eyes. Terror at what was going on and not being able to stop it. Your terror at not wanting it but your body begging for it," John muttered but kept his gaze turned away.

He shrugged weakly before speaking again. "I brought you home and dosed myself with enough Alpha inhibitors to help you through your heat with toys. I bargained orgasms for you if you drank and ate for me. It worked. During the time between the waves I cleaned your wounds and bandaged them."

Sherlock hmmed in response and his fingers moved to gently trace over the four red scratch marks on John's shoulder. "And these?"

John chuckled darkly, "You weren't very happy with the toys when you could smell an aroused Alpha next to you. You clawed at me and begged me to fuck you through the mattress. Your words, not mine."

Sherlock was horrified that he had been reduced to that primal state. That he had inflicted all that on John, who was trying to help him, was nauseating. His thumb started rubbing on John's shoulder in an effort to convey his apology.

"John, I'm-"

"Leave it be, Sherlock. None of this was your fault. I chose to take the inhibitor. Everything that happened is on my head and my head alone," John said and started to roll over and push himself up slowly.

Sherlock's breath caught when he saw John's back for the first time. It was a terrible painting of black, blue, green and yellow bruisings. He could see the muscles flexing under the gruesome artwork and could only imagine how painful it must be. John disregarded the blanket and stood slowly to stretch. Sherlock quickly averted his eyes but not before he admired the other man's arse.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

John slowed while pulling on his pajama bottoms. He stared at the floor while shifting the waist band until it was comfortably low on his hips. Sherlock suddenly realized how difficult this was on John. To constantly be in tight control and repressing that side of him that controlled such biological impulses. John's shoulders were hunched slightly under the weight he was unconsciously bearing. Sherlock watched John's torso shift slightly as he took a deep breath.

"No, Sherlock. There's nothing you can do."

Sherlock watched as John limped towards the bathroom and squashed the sudden urge to get up and wrap his arms and legs around John. John was suffering because he tried to help him. Sherlock mechanically packed away the kit and stored it back under the bed. Before John returned to his room, Sherlock had wandered down the stairs and stretched out on the couch. How could he help John?

(!)(!)(!)

Thank you to everyone that reviewed, favorited and alerted. All of these lovely actions make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Enjoy!

To the Guest who left the review: I wish you had left me a way to reply to your ethical questions instead of disappearing.


	4. Outcomes

After spending a few hours with Sherlock in his bed, John's bruises had faded closer to the level they should have been, given the initial injury date. The scratches on his neck, chest and back were healing over but not completely gone. His self inflicted knife wound was starting to heal as well. His aggression had faded somewhat and only flared up badly when another Alpha moved too closely to Sherlock. John was able to go out to crime scenes again and was able to cut back on his "meetings" at the gym. John also started making arrangements to spend a heat with an officer from the NSY. He had actually chatted up a few Omegas on the force when Sherlock was flouncing around insulting Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade. One Omega, Justin, had been forward enough to ask John to share his heat with him. The first time John had declined but now he could almost say he was eager. Not as eager as if it was the Omega he really wanted but John knew that Omega would never be within his reach. There was no reason to dwell on it.

The manufacturer of the Alpha inhibitor had tested and confirmed that the rut symptoms would be solved by spending a natural heat with an Omega. Bonding was not necessary but they did recommend spending the heat with a male Omega instead of a female Omega. When John pressed for the reason why, the company had hinted that a male Omega would be better suited to handle the intensity of his rut. Apparently he would be able to elevate the intensity of the heat for both parties and a female's body might not be able to withstand the pounding. For a brief moment John's Alpha pride flared hotly but then reality set in and he groaned. He made sure to warn Justin, the Omega officer just laughed and said he was actually looking forward to his heat for the first time in a while. John laughed and started to feel like this could fix his issues.

John jogged down the stairs and dropped his duffel bag by the door. Sherlock was stretched out on the couch dressed in trousers and button down shirt with his dressing robe on and dragging the floor. Sherlock had been silent when John had told him that he would be unavailable for a few days and not to call. Well he could call, but John would definitely not be answering or replying to any call or text.

"Sherlock, I'm leaving. Call Lestrade for some cases or something. Don't stay on that couch moping all day," John called and collected his mobile from the kitchen table.

He heard a grunt from the couch as he pulled on his jacket. John rolled his eyes at the reply and went to grab for his bag.

"I'll bond with you."

He froze in his movement, his hand only three inches away from the duffel bag handle. Did he hear Sherlock right? His mind raced through what else that could sound like 'I'll fawn with you'? No. 'I'm tall for you' Well obviously, yes, but not correct in the context. 'I'm sound with you'? Hunh?

John straightened and looked at the figure on the couch. Sherlock still looked as poised as a Greek statue, hands pressed together under his chin, eyes closed and feet crossed at the ankles. John thought for a moment that he might have been hearing things but one eyelid popped open and locked on him.

"What?"

Sherlock sighed and surged from the couch to step over the coffee table. His robe billowed behind him as he paced around the sitting room.

"You don't have to go to that Omega. I'll bond with you," Sherlock said and waved a hand vaguely towards the stairs.

John looked towards the stairs and thankfully he'd been around Sherlock long enough to be able to follow his logic; most of the time he could follow it. This time he only got as far as realizing that Sherlock knew he was going to an Omega to share his heat but how he got to bonding was a little confusing.

"Bonding never came up. I think Justin's a good guy but I don't know him nearly well enough to bond with him," John replied with a raised eyebrow.

"By that logic then you should have no qualms bonding with me like I just said. So stay here and I'll let you mark me when my heat comes around."

John watched as Sherlock continued to pace and again Sherlock's logic was lost on him. His instincts told him though that he wouldn't like where Sherlock was going with this.

"You'll let me mark you? Mark as in bonding? Becoming a bonded pair? Is that what you mean Sherlock?" John asked and slowly advanced into the room.

Sherlock glanced at him with a sneer before turning back to stare at the path he was taking during his pacing. "That's what I said. We'll bond and then you don't have to go out to see that Omega. I don't have to worry about going somewhere for my heat or using those," sneer, "toys. Everyone wins."

John licked his lips while staring at Sherlock before turning back and looking at the doorway and stairs. Looking back to Sherlock, he found the consulting detective staring at him.

"So, you want to bond with me? Excuse me for asking the obvious, but why?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and waffled a hand towards John. "You're going to spend a heat with Justin because he's made advances towards you and you need to spend a heat with someone to solve your aggression issues. I don't want to bond but I need to. _Need_ to, with someone, so I don't have to tolerate unwanted interest and/or attraction from animalistic Alphas. Easy solution, stay here and when my unfortunately required heat comes around then you can fuck me and be rid of your aggression. You can then bond with me so I don't have to tolerate Alphas. After the heat, I'll go back on my suppressants and everything will be back to normal."

John felt his fingers twitch and that was his only bodily response to Sherlock's statement. Sherlock seemed very serious about the request, _insult_ John's subconscious supplied. John could feel the tension tightening across his shoulders and the aggression crawl up the back of his neck. It seemed Sherlock knew the fastest route to piss off John. Seeing John's hesitation, Sherlock sighed and approached John while shrugging his robe off his shoulders. With liquid grace he sank to his knees and tilted his head to the side to bare his scent gland.

"Sherlock? Wh-?"

"If you bite me now then my heat will start within 72 hours and you can reaffirm the bite when you fuck me. After that we can get this unpleasant business completed and done with," Sherlock snapped and stared at the fireplace.

He didn't see the hurt realization dawn on John's face.

"Is that the only reason you're asking to bond? To not have to bother with your biology anymore?"

Sherlock sighed again at the question. "Obviously. Why else would I want to tie myself to an Alpha? Now bite."

John stared at the dark haired man on his knees in front of him and felt a small part of himself crumble away. He foolishly thought he meant something to Sherlock. After the genius helped bandage the wounds, offered to help; now he treated John like an object to use to get what he wanted before discarding it to the side. Yes, John wanted to bond with Sherlock but because he couldn't imagine his life without Sherlock. Just as John knew the sun would rise, he knew Sherlock would be there in his chair waiting for a cup of tea he never asked for. Just as he knew that rain would be wet, John knew Sherlock would have his back when everything came to an end. John's Alpha craved Sherlock's scent, the scent of his perfect match, his perfect mate.

'Unwanted', 'animalistic', 'unpleasant', the words ricocheted around John's head with the memory of the sneer directed towards him.

All this flashed through John's consciousness as he stared at the dark head. With a shallow breath, John turned and grabbed his bag to clatter down the stairs and out onto the street. He didn't even try to snag a cab, he just started walking.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock heard the retreating footsteps and the door slamming shut behind John as he continued to stare at the cold fireplace. His bared neck felt cold as did the rest of him actually. Sherlock's knees were hurting but he was accustomed to pain. Dropping his proud shoulders, he sat back on his heels and curled his hands into his lap. He had gambled and lost. His science was absolute. Where had he miscalculated? This was supposed to have made John happy. He ignored the keening Omega in the back of his mind as he slowly rose to his feet. Pulling his robe up and over his shoulders once again Sherlock slowly walked over to the windows and looked down at the busy street. He was too late to see which direction John may have gone. He didn't even know what he would have done with the information. Gone after John and begged him to stay? John didn't like passive and simpering mates. He wanted someone who would stand up to him and challenge him. Someone who was passionate in everything they did together. Not someone who could lay on the couch for hours on end and be antisocial. No wonder John didn't want to bond with him. When had he ever proven that he was worthy of John Watson? Anthea was correct in her statement from the other night: he did not deserve John Watson. Now John had gone to share a heat with an Omega that wasn't Sherlock.

Something deep inside Sherlock twisted sharply and he curled around himself for a moment in pain. Taking a few deep breaths, the pain eased and he slowly straightened. New resolve settled in his bones. This was just transport and sentiment; he could conquer this.

Behind him his mobile dinged. With a huff and swirl worthy of a monarch, Sherlock grabbed his mobile and opened the text.

_Body dump. Three bodies missing various parts.-GL_

The grin that stretched across Sherlock's lips would have frightened most people. If he saw it himself it might have actually made him pause. _Bit not good _a voice whispered in his mind and with a snarl he stormed to his room to dress.

The Work needed him and he needed the Work. Nothing else mattered.

(!)(!)(!)

Four days later Greg Lestrade watched Sherlock with concern. The genius was stalking around a fresh crime scene firing off random deductions more to himself than anyone else. His long legs took him over the bodies and around the equipment with one hand buried in his hair and the other hand planted on his hip.

"One scene tells me it's three people doing this...next scene says it's one...one has medical training...calm then frantic. Experience with a...with a...oh what's the word?" Sherlock growled and Lestrade stepped forward.

"What word Sherlock?"

Sherlock jerked in surprise, almost as if he actually forgot that Lestrade was there. He looked around frantically before turning his gaze back to Lestrade and started snapping his fingers.

"He has experience with a knife. No, wrong word. Blade. No, still wrong word. Cutter. Box cutter? No, sharp blade, white coat people use them."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows and was suddenly thankful that the rest of his team was at the head of the alley and couldn't hear the rambling coming from the genius. He had ordered them to stay there under threat of desk duty if they didn't follow orders. After seeing the state of Sherlock when he first arrived a little voice had whispered to Lestrade that something was off with the genius.

"'White coat people'? A doctor, a surgeon? Do you mean a scalpel?"

Sherlock clapped his hands together and pointed at Lestrade with both hands. "Yes! One has experience with a scalpel. Need something else. Why take body parts? Hasn't taken two of anything. Instead of two left hands. Why two? First left handed victim the appendage was butchered; messy, sloppy. Second left handed victim was smooth; confident, delicate. Something is missing. Think!" Sherlock snapped, bumping the heel of his hand against his forehead a few times.

Lestrade took a step back and reached for his mobile. It had just gone beyond his level of comfort. He had a text waiting for him.

_Contact Watson.-MH_

Lestrade didn't hesitate as he punched the speed dial for John. Once the doctor picked up Lestrade just told him where they were and to get there as soon as possible. He wouldn't be able to accurately describe what he was seeing. Best to let John see it for himself.

"You okay, Sherlock? Gotten some sleep lately?" Lestrade asked as he dropped his mobile back into his pocket.

Sherlock didn't spare him a glance as he started to walk around the bodies again. "Sleep is not important. Why would it be important? Why did he ask? Why do you ask?"

"Because you're not acting like yourself."

Sherlock stopped walking and stared blankly at Lestrade. The corner of his eyes twitched and he was suddenly striding up to Lestrade. The DI took a few steps backwards but he couldn't dodge out of the way fast enough. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.

"That's it! That's brilliant Galahad! It explains everything. Oh of course! Multiple culprits but the same one. If they threaten to commit suicide does it become a hostage negotiation?" Sherlock giggled and released Lestrade to start spinning in place.

Lestrade didn't think. He snagged Sherlock's arm and drug him behind a dumpster to slam him against the brick wall. Sherlock's head bounced off the wall and he started sliding down the rough exterior with Lestrade carefully guiding him. They ended up crouched behind the dumpster with Lestrade kneeling in front of Sherlock who was sitting on his arse against the wall. Lestrade held a shoulder with one hand while tilting Sherlock's face up towards him.

"Are you high, Sherlock? So help me if you are, I'll skin you myself," Lestrade growled and carefully used his thumb to pull back one of Sherlock's eyelids.

A weak giggle escaped Sherlock and it seemed to cost him as he sagged against the wall. Lestrade let his head slip from his grasp as he gripped the other shoulder. His pupils were reactionary so not high; but something was messing with the consulting detective.

"Sherlock? Talk to me."

"I asked John to bite me and he left. Went to spend a heat with another Omega. Wasn't good enough for him," Sherlock muttered and leaned his head back to look over Lestrade's head.

Lestrade didn't let his surprise show. Realizing that Sherlock was an Omega was startling but not that outlandish. Yes, he had the attitude and carriage of an Alpha but his sensitivity and at times delicate emotions pointed more towards Omega. His surprise came from the new knowledge that Sherlock had asked John to bond with him and was turned down. Lestrade knew without a doubt that Sherlock's phrasing was probably the sticking point.

"What did you say to him exactly, Sherlock?"

"I told him I'd let him mark me if he stayed and not go to Justin," Sherlock sneered and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Did you say it like that? Like you were only using it as a bargaining chip to keep John around?"

Sherlock blinked at him and his mouth slowly shaped into an 'O'.

"I see." Sherlock lifted a hand and pressed it to his temple. "Something's not right, Graham."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I noticed that a while ago."

He leaned back to peer around the dumpster when he heard his name being shouted. He found John jogging down the alley while shooting a dirty look back over his shoulder at Donovan. Calling for John, Lestrade turned back to look at Sherlock who paled even worse than before.

"You can't be subtle with John, Sherlock. He's not like you, reading between the lines. You need to be brutally honest with him. I think you'd be surprised by what he says," Lestrade whispered before standing and stepping away.

John's gaze dropped from Lestrade to Sherlock who was still on the ground. He knelt close to Sherlock and immediately started looking over the younger man.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked while pushing aside his coat to run his hands over the warm body looking for injuries.

Sherlock took in a deep breath but only smelled John's alluring aroma. If he had spent the past several days spending a heat with Justin he would reek of sex. Even after taking a shower he would still be able to catch traces of it. His head jerked back and his eyes roved over John. The deductions came to him quickly. Final conclusion: John didn't help Justin with his heat. But where had he been for the past four days? He tried reading John again but nothing would come. All Sherlock could think about was how happy he was that John was back. Back with him. And John's scent. He smelled really good. Too good in fact. Sherlock didn't care though. He tilted forward and happily sighed when John caught him. He buried his face into John's chest and rubbed against the fabric. His hands gripped John's forearms and his fingers were rubbing gently against the muscle.

"Something's not right, John. Take me home, please."

John twitched at the please but nodded once seeing Lestrade's emphatic agreement.

"Yeah, okay, Sherlock. Come on you git," John said and straightened before hauling Sherlock up with him.

Sherlock wavered and clung tightly to John as the shorter man draped an arm across his shoulders.

"Lestrade...looking for a doctor...away on personal time...multiple personalities...lost his significant other...traumatic loss...couldn't find the body...that was trigger...trying to recreate the deceased," Sherlock muttered and Lestrade blanched slightly.

"Like Frankenstein?"

Sherlock looked blatantly confused at that question. "I don't know what that means...but no, whatever that means...no. Trying to find closure...no body to bury...so...closure...yeah...that."

John raised a concerned eyebrow as Sherlock trailed off and seemed confused as to where he was heading with that statement. Nodding a silent thanks to Lestrade, John carefully guided Sherlock out of the alley and through the small crowd of NSY staff. Lestrade was already yelling at them to come and start collecting evidence so none of them had time to say anything snarky. It would have been amusing to see how Sherlock would have dealt with it in the state he was in.

Managing to flag down a cabbie, John shoved Sherlock in and slid in after him. Giving the destination to the driver, John turned to look at Sherlock who was slumped against the seat. Knowing he wouldn't get straight answers out of Sherlock, John took a hold of his wrist and pressed his fingertips against the pulse while taking in other physical markers. Pulse fast and thready. Skin paler than normal and cooler than normal despite the jacket and scarf. Sherlock's cheeks looked a bit sunken in; more so than they did a few days ago.

"Sherlock, have you eaten anything since I left four days ago?" John asked, knowing the answer but hoping he was incorrect.

"Tea."

John raised an eyebrow and stared at Sherlock waiting for anything else. When Sherlock looked at him John made a motion indicating to continue.

"Tea has sugar...and caffeine."

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand and releasing Sherlock's wrist. Digging out his mobile, he made a quick call to Mrs Hudson and put in a request for some hearty stew or soup or anything nutritious she might have. That woman could create a four course meal out of spam, marmite and crackers he mused and slipped the mobile back into his pocket.

"John?"

"Yeah?" he answered and turned to look at the slouching detective.

"Why do you not smell?"

A choked giggle escaped John at the random question before he calmed. "Excuse me?"

"Why do you not smell like...him?"

John stared blankly at Sherlock while the other man wouldn't look at him. It seemed Sherlock was tense waiting for the answer. John realized how badly Sherlock was off if he couldn't tell just by looking at John. Granted he wasn't looking at him now but he was looking at him in the alley.

"Because I didn't help him with his heat. He bumped into his old flame earlier in the day and one thing led to another. I received his text just as I got to his block. I didn't feel like coming back to Baker Street so I went and stayed at the clinic while picking up some hours. Until Greg texted me earlier. You need to take better care of yourself, Sherlock. Yes, it's all just transport but that transport is what houses your brain and the brain is what lets you do the Work. Neglect one and other suffers."

Sherlock just grunted as the cab pulled up at the flat. Paying the cabbie quicky, John helped Sherlock out of the cab and hovered nearby when Sherlock pushed him away with a 'I can move on my own.' That lasted until he got the door unlocked and it swung open. He was leaning too much weight into it and when it went swinging open Sherlock followed it. John barely managed to wrap an arm around Sherlock's middle and clutch at the doorframe with his other hand to keep them both vertical. Sherlock released a oomph at the sudden pressure against his diaphragm and just hung there limply against the strong arm. A scurry of footsteps caused him to look up into the face of a concerned landlady.

"Hi, Mrs. H."

Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows shot up into her hair at the casual greeting. She looked alarmed before looking to John who just shook his head weakly and pulled Sherlock back against him.

"Don't ask."

"I put a pot of stew on the stovetop for you on warm. There's some bread there as well. Is he going to be okay?" she asked worriedly as John again pulled Sherlock's arm over his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. I'll set him right. He'll be back to his normal acidic self in no time," John muttered and manhandled Sherlock upstairs.

"I'm not acidic," Sherlock murmured once John had settled him on the couch.

"At the best of times you are. Now stay down," John ordered and started pulling off Sherlock's coat, suit jacket and scarf.

He cast them to the side before pulling the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around Sherlock's shoulders. Reaffirming his order to stay, John hurried to the kitchen and found a pot of stew and some bread just as Mrs. Hudson had promised. Ladling out a bowl full, he grabbed a slice of bread and went back to Sherlock. The consulting detective was sitting just as before staring off into space but his attention turned to John as he approached and sat next to him. Slowly John started to feed Sherlock the stew until he was able to do it himself. He ate two big bowls worth plus bread before promptly falling asleep sitting up. Rolling his eyes, John gently tilted Sherlock to the side and slipped a pillow under his head. Removing the designer shoes, he tucked the afghan around the gangly man and slowly straightened to look over his charge. Being asleep really did take a few years of cynicism off Sherlock's expression, John mused as he gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's thick curls. The genius snuffled slightly in pleasure before burrowing deeper under the afghan.

"Idiot," John muttered fondly before removing his hand and going to get himself a bowl of stew.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock jerked awake with a sharp pain in his abdomen but it faded quickly as soon as he saw his surroundings. He was back at the flat but how he got here was fuzzy. He remembered working a case with Lestrade and body parts. Two separate crime scenes and two apparent criminals. But the same criminal and then John was there. John's scent dominated his memories after that point. There was a cab ride and food. Then fuzziness.

"John?" he called and pushed off the afghan.

He heard thumping from somewhere and then footsteps jogging up the stairs. John appeared through the doorway and smiled brightly seeing Sherlock conscious and vertical.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

Sherlock put a hand up to his head and ran his fingers through his hair before pushing himself up.

"Better than I was, I think." Sherlock frowned as memories came back. "Did I really call Mrs. Hudson Mrs. H?"

John smirked. "Yeah, she thought it was amusing."

Sherlock grunted and started walking towards his bedroom to change.

"So what happened with Justin? I remember asking about him but don't recall the answer."

Sherlock changed out of his clothes and into his loose pajamas and a worn tee shirt. Pulling his robe on he sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"His old flame showed up. Turns out he didn't need me to help with his heat. I stayed at the clinic taking extra shifts," John called from the kitchen.

Sherlock grunted in reply as he wrapped one arm around his mid drift. He felt twitchy like he was coming down off a high. Maybe he needed to sleep more. Or eat again. Gah, he hated his transport. He listened to John move around the kitchen and was glad he had come back. He knew that John made him better. He wondered if John knew that? Lestrade's words came back him. _Be brutally honest with him._ Sherlock pushed off his robe, suddenly overheated, before opening the door to the hallway.

"There's a cup of tea on the kitchen table for you. I'm taking a shower," John called just as the bathroom door closed behind him.

Sherlock stared at the bathroom door in annoyance. Just when he was ready to tell John the truth he had to go and take a shower. Annoying. Pulling at his shirt collar Sherlock picked up the mug of tea on his way to the sitting room and stood by the window while blowing on the hot beverage. Taking one sip had him putting it aside with a grimace. He was already too warm to be drinking hot tea. He listened to the noises from the water pipes and tried to organize his thoughts of what he wanted to tell John. _You complete me. _Bleh, physiologically incorrect. _I love you. _Too forward and far too soon. _I want you. _True but need to provide evidence.

He grumbled again and pulled at his shirt to flap it against his skin to get some air flow. This was why he didn't do feelings or sentiment; it made his body feel all funny. Speaking of his body it was currently being recalcitrant. _What was wrong with him?_

The shower shut off as Sherlock pulled off his shirt and rubbed at his chest. A groan escaped his lips and his legs felt weak. Turning to aim for the couch, he wobbled and reached out for something to steady himself on. Despite his best intentions his legs folded and his knees hit the ground hard.

"Sherlock? I heard something. Are you okay?"

The bathroom door opened with a small cloud of steam and John emerged dressed only in a pair of khakis. At the sight of his bare chest with droplets of water spotting the flesh Sherlock moaned as multiple things happened at once. Blood rushed to his groin and his penis hardened as slick gushed from his arse. His pheromones saturated the air and hit John so hard that his back slammed against the wall beside the bathroom door. John's eyes darkened as he took a deep breath and smelled Sherlock's scent.

"John...something...what's wrong?" Sherlock moaned and ground the heel of his hand against his erection.

"It's your heat. Your heat has started. Please tell me you made arrangements with someone. I can call them and leave for a few days. Tell me who!" John choked and dug his fingers into the unyielding wood.

Sherlock sobbed weakly as his other hand clawed at the carpet. He had erred badly. He thought he had time. He always thought he had time. Now he realized why, subconsciously, he hadn't made arrangements. He only trusted John to see him like this. Only trusted John for everything.

He shook his head. "No, I made no arrangements. Please, John, you have to help me."

Sherlock felt like ants were marching across his skin and he could feel every step. He was running a temperature and imagined he could see the steam coming off the flesh. His hands couldn't stay away from his aching cock and he needed something. Something only John could provide.

John was frantically shaking his head. "I can't take the Alpha inhibitor. I'm already messed up as it is. I can't take anymore."

Sherlock stared at him and hoped John could see the plea in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to stop yourself, John. Take me, mate me, fuck me."

John panted at the words and realized how close his control was to fracturing. "It's not going to be easy, Sherlock. It's going to be

rough, hard and fast for four or five days. Do you swear not to hold this against me?"

Sherlock nodded frantically as his muscles trembled and all he could think about was having John's cock pound his ass. Pound his ass and make him scream in pleasure. He knew John could do it. The military man would wring every drop of pleasure from him and still have him begging and pleading for more. Which sounded divine right now.

"Tell me Sherlock!" John snapped and broke Sherlock's control.

"Do it! Fuck me! Yes, god, yes!"

The predatory glint in John's eyes was the precursor to John pushing away from the wall slowly.

"Yes," he purred and part of Sherlock melted.


	5. Using

Sherlock managed to climb to his feet as John advanced on him. Without pausing, John crouched, and grabbed Sherlock around his thighs, lifting him. Sherlock grunted then groaned loudly as John pinned him to the glass window at his back, grinding against him. Sherlock instinctively wrapped his legs around John's waist and thrust his head back as John's lips attached high on Sherlock's throat. A high pitched keen escaped Sherlock's lips as his hips bucked towards John. His skin felt too tight and too hot. Lava churned in his groin and only John could cease the burning within him.

"John! John? What-"

"Easy, easy, I'll take care of you," John whispered and squeezed Sherlock's arse cheeks, a plump mound cupped in each palm.

Surging forward, Sherlock locked lips with John, not hesitating to thrust his tongue into John's mouth. His hands gripped at moist flesh and his hips kept bucking against John's grip. The glass against his back was cool but heating quickly, the sweat beading across his skin soon making it slick. He frantically wondered if people from the street could see him. See him pinned against the window like a wanton whore, just as quickly realizing that he just didn't care; especially if John kept flexing his hips just like that. John ate the whimpers as one of his hands slipped between their two bodies and roughly pinched one of Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock's yelp disintegrated into a groan as his blood burned through his body. His pajama pants were plastered to his arse from his personal lubricant and his lower body clenched repeatedly.

John growled against his collarbone and tightened his grip before spinning away from the window. Sherlock kept one arm wrapped around John's neck as his other hand gripped at the tightened bicep holding him aloft and against John's body. Sherlock's mind was reeling. This is a natural heat? This excruciating need to be filled and fucked raw? Losing every one of his inhibitions and making him a whorish slut? The primal need slipped aside for a moment and Sherlock suddenly realized it was also a need to be wanted and claimed; to be owned. That brief, revealing moment of clarity fell away as John's teeth latched onto his nipple and sucked sharply as his tongue flicked across the sensitive bud. Sherlock gasped as he tightened his grip and thrust his chest forward.

"Yes! Please, John!"

Sherlock didn't know what he was begging for but John seemed to know. John staggered into Sherlock's room and both of them collapsed on the bed. The air was knocked from Sherlock's lungs though he sucked it back in quickly as John rocked back onto his heels and looked at the sight before him. Sherlock's thighs were splayed wide and the stain from his personal lubrication was stark against the fabric. John breathed in the Omega's scent and it was so heady and concentrated, John fought for the little control he still had. A flush stained the pale torso and Sherlock's hands clenched uselessly at empty air searching for something to grab a hold of. His head was tilted back to bare his throat and the taut tendons beckoned to John.

"God, Sherlock...you are...breathtaking," John murmured and slowly ran his hands up Sherlock's calves and curled behind his bent knees.

At the touch Sherlock shivered and frantically started pushing off his pajama bottoms. He wanted those hands on his skin. Once the article of clothing was cast aside, John pushed Sherlock's knees far apart and bent his head close to the leaking cock that jutted proudly from Sherlock's groin. Hearing the man whimper above him, John flattened his tongue and licked a broad swipe up the base of Sherlock's cock. The choked cry broke the last shreds of his control and he swallowed down the cock in front of him without hesitation. Sherlock cried out, hips surging forward as his fingers scrabbled for purchase against the bed or John. John could feel the base of his cock starting to throb in time to his heartbeat and knew his knot was starting to grow. Promising himself that he would come back to Sherlock's cock later, he let the organ slip from his mouth before he crawled up Sherlock's body.

The consulting detective was flushed and perspiration dotted his forehead as his head tossed side to side. Covering Sherlock's body with his own, John framed Sherlock's head and looked him in the eye.

"Sherlock? I need you to focus on me. Sherlock?"

The haze in the blue grey eyes cleared briefly and Sherlock bit his bottom lip to try and keep his attention on John instead of the painful need to be fucked.

"Are you sure about this, Sherlock? Once I slide into you my control will be gone," John said with a waver in his voice; his control was on it's way out the door.

"Yes! Yes! Just fuck me!" Sherlock sobbed, clenching his eyes shut tightly.

John dropped his head and kissed Sherlock with tongue and teeth. Propping himself up on one elbow, John dropped his hand between Sherlock's thighs and used three fingers to circle around his twitching hole. John sucked on the nipple closest to him and swirled his tongue while his fingers worked around Sherlock's intimate part. Two fingers easily slipped into Sherlock and the younger man gasped as his hips bucked. He was so sensitive, John mused, slipping another finger in. The way Sherlock whimpered his name was the final strain on his control.

Bracing himself over Sherlock's body, he pulled the long pale legs over his shoulders and with one deep breath he sunk into Sherlock's body. Sherlock arched in response to the sensations and his fingers gripped John's forearms.

"Yes! My Alpha! Knot me! Please! Oh, god, just…" A broken sob escaped Sherlock's lips as his legs tightened around John's shoulders.

"Please, Alpha," he whimpered and that deep whimper stroked the Alpha.

The plea and tight, velvet heat had John's Alpha roaring to the forefront of his mind. The breathy sighs and grunts from under him spurned him on as he leaned tighter against Sherlock. The tall genius now had his lower body curled almost up to his head as John pounded into him. Sherlock could feel his rim catching on John's knot and his orgasm was churning tightly in his abdomen. John dropped his hips and angled them just enough that on the next thrust Sherlock was seeing stars and screaming as his sensitive prostate was directly assaulted.

Any final inhibitions on Sherlock's part vaporized at that moment and he fell mindlessly into the Omega mindset. Nails dug into the Alpha's shoulders and thighs went limp to accept the pounding. "Knot me, Alpha! I'll be good Omega for you. Breed me! I'll be a good mate. Yes! More! Harder!"

The headboard was slamming against the wall and the metal frame was starting to squeak, protesting the vigorous movement. Sherlock's nerve endings were firing in rapid succession, the looming danger that they would soon coalesce into one constant pulse radiating throughout his body. He could feel his orgasm boiling up his body as his gasps shortened before he sucked in a deep breath and everything exploded. His breath caught tightly as he grunted low and deep, his body freezing as ejaculate spurted from his cock between them. The Alpha's keen senses, now overwhelmed by his Omega's climax, sent his arousal soaring. John roared as he thrust deeply and his knot expanded to trigger his orgasm. He gasped as his hips continued to rock against Sherlock's rump while smaller orgasms followed. Panting, John lowered Sherlock's legs to the bed and carefully rolled them so Sherlock was splayed across his chest.

"Sherlock?" John whispered and brushed back the unruly curls that hid Sherlock's eyes.

John felt movement against his chest as Sherlock swallowed. "What?"

"You alright, mate?"

Sherlock huffed a weak moan but didn't open his eyes as his breathy pants brushed against John's neck. He swallowed again before speaking.

"I'm going to be so sore by the end of this."

John giggled and suddenly felt his cock deflate enough to slip from Sherlock's body. Both men groaned softly as Sherlock shifted off John's body and ended up on his stomach next to John on the bed. John was still on his back but he reached out a hand and gently rubbed Sherlock's lower back. The other man sighed before his muscles tightened and John raised his head.

"Sherlock?"

A faint rumble was the only warning John got before Sherlock practically tackled him. The next wave had hit.

(!)(!)(!)

Twelve hours in and they had moved to the kitchen to try and grab some food. The timing didn't work out and now Sherlock was bent over the table with John pounding into his arse. One hand held Sherlock's wrists at his lower back, while John's other hand pressed between Sherlock's shoulder blades, keeping him pinned against the table. The table was just tall enough that the balls of Sherlock's feet could touch the floor but not his heels. Meaning he had no leverage to push back against John and simply had to lay there and take everything John gave him; not that he was complaining really. Encouragement and provocation was the only thing understandable pouring from his mouth. The groans, moans and cries were standard at this point.

"Knot me, Alpha...fucking knot me," Sherlock growled and snapped his teeth at the Alpha over his shoulder.

A growl was his only reply before the grip on his hands tightened and a particularly hard thrust had him suddenly lightheaded. Each thrust sent the table screeching across the floor until it hit the wall under the window. He pressed his forehead against the tabletop and felt his hot, breathy pants bounce back against his face. His hip bones were gouging into the tabletop but the sharp pain only added to the overwhelming, drowning pleasure. His thighs and arse were covered in slick, the rest of his body covered in sweat. John was right...it was rough and brutal and absolutely glorious. John's teeth scraped against his back and his fingers dug into his upper back. Sherlock threw his head back with a hiss and felt his orgasm start to crest.

"John!"

John's final thrust knocked the air from his lungs and he gasped as John's knot expanded then screamed when they locked together and his orgasm crashed over his senses. His legs kicked uselessly as his body milked John's cock and he keened mindlessly at the sensation of John coming deep inside him. The feeling of being held down and restrained creating a pleasurable hum throughout his body. John's hips were still thrusting gently and his weight was a warm comfort against his back.

"Oh, god...oh, god," Sherlock mumbled and felt his senses start to drift.

John's hands released their grip and moved his arms back to his sides. Strong arms curled under his chest and abdomen as John pulled him back. They both sank to the floor in a sweaty pile. John was on his knees with his arms wrapped around Sherlock's torso. Sherlock was on his knees as well, sitting on John's lap with his legs pressed to the outside of John's thighs. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the edge of the table, thanking whatever gods were listening for a cool floor and table edge. John gently kissed along Sherlock's back and his tongue would occasionally dart out to lick at the sweat. Sherlock's arms moved forward and braced his upper body against the floor as he curled forward. John took a deep breath and rocked back to straighten himself out while leaving a gently rubbing hand on Sherlock's back.

"We should get back to bed," John murmured softly. "Or at least somewhere softer before the next wave."

"How much longer?" Sherlock muttered and felt John's hand still for a moment.

"How much longer what?"

"Is this heat? How much longer do I have to go through this?"

John sighed and continue to rub Sherlock's back. He wished he could lie to Sherlock but knew he didn't need lies right now. He needed the truth to know what to expect.

"A normal heat lasts three to five days. Because of your forced heat and never having a natural one before, the usual estimates could be off. I don't really know, Sherlock. I'm sorry," John said and felt a small tremble race through Sherlock.

John was certain that tremble wasn't related to good sensations. He couldn't imagine what Sherlock was going through. Having his first heat ever and never experiencing anything sexual prior to that was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head after coming out of a sauna. It was a full body jolt of new sensations, experiences and feelings; all things that Sherlock wasn't a fan of on good days.

Sherlock's thoughts were similar to John's but not exactly. He was shocked to realize how much he was enjoying this. Having his choices taken away and relying only on his instincts was refreshing to a point. Feeling desired by someone he himself desired proved to be very satisfying, and it terrified Sherlock. He didn't put any stock in instincts but for now they were ruling his life, taking control of his mind and body. This was just transport; he should be able to ignore this and move on. But now that he knew what he was missing. Now that he knew how John gasped his name in the throes of passion; knew how much John enjoyed kissing across his skin and treating it like something precious. He understood what was happening and understood the chemical reactions that resulted from orgasm but never expected the level of vulnerability that came with it. But John was there, holding him tightly and keeping him grounded, guiding him and keeping him safe. He couldn't tolerate this. He couldn't let himself be attached to someone. They all left in the end, left him behind. Better to not need anyone and be alone than to be hurt so badly that he could never recover.

The pressure at his back increased. "Sherlock?"

"Yeah, let's move back to the bedroom."

Hide his emotions and his true feelings. John wouldn't want him. Accept and move on.

(!)(!)(!)

"Please, Alpha...pups...mine...bond," the Omega whimpered and arched his back to look pleadingly over his shoulder.

The Alpha growled and thrust deeper into the willing flesh, feeling the body around his cock quiver. The knot at the base of his penis started to swell and catch on the relaxed and loose rim of the Omega's arse. The cries started to escalate as the thrusts started to get rougher until a hand gripped the Omega's shoulder and jerked him back. His other hand wrapped around the damp hair and pulled the sensitive follicles in a tight grip. The Omega howled as the knot pushed through and expanded, triggering his orgasm. The Alpha bellowed in success as his orgasm was wrenched from him yet again and he filled the Omega thrashing under him. His grip on the hair clenched in tandem with his orgasmic waves and each pull prompted a weak whimper from the Omega under him. He collapsed atop his partner and simply breathed for a moment before gently rolling the two of them to their sides. The Omega took a deep breath and slipped into exhausted sleep as the Alpha cocooned him from behind.

John came back to himself and took a deep breath. The heat pheromones were gone; Sherlock's heat was finished. The arm that wasn't pinned under Sherlock rubbed across his face. The heat was difficult on both of them. The times that John had spent heats with other Omegas seemed a breeze compared to what Sherlock and he had just experienced. There were some hours that once his knot deflated and he slipped from Sherlock, the heat instantly came over Sherlock again and they were right back at it. The Alpha was happily rumbling in the back of John's mind. John started to take stock of himself and Sherlock while he waited for his knot to deflate.

Both dehydrated and bruised, hungry but not starving, John mused as his free hand brushed over Sherlock's chest. Holding the back of his hand near Sherlock's mouth, he felt the gentle puff of breath against his skin and evaluated the rate and pressure. Nothing to be concerned about. When Sherlock had been informed he would have to suffer through a natural heat, he had immediately gone on birth control to prevent any accidents. John was thankful he wouldn't have to worry about that. Shifting his hips, John slid free and moved to the edge of the bed. He felt sore and achy himself but knew Sherlock had it worse. Carefully standing up, he wobbled to the loo and eventually reappeared with a few damp flannels. Carefully wiping Sherlock down, he tucked the younger man under a blanket and gently brushed back a few stray curls of hair from his forehead. Sighing, John stood and quickly collected a set of clean clothes before wobbling back to the loo for a quick shower. While washing he evaluated his body and the myriad of marks. His body was decorated with various bruises and scratches; all of which were already healing. Sluicing the shampoo out of his hair, John turned off the knobs and stepped from the shower. Toweling off quickly, John pulled on a pair of comfortable track pants and a simple tee shirt.

Despite the heat being over, he expected that Sherlock and he would not be leaving the flat for another twenty-four hours while they both recovered.

Finishing up in the loo, he hung his towels before moving towards the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he planted one hand on his hip while the hand gripped the top of the fridge door. There were a few edible items in the "safe" area and he decided an omelet with toast on the side was a good enough balance of protein, carbohydrates and vegetables. While starting to cook he listened closely for any noises from the nearby bedroom to indicate his flat mate was awakening.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock groaned softly as his muscles protested the mild mid body stretch he had awoken to. Everything ached, even his hair.

Carefully running his fingers along his scalp and through the tangled mass, he felt his nerves tingle and a purr work its way up his throat. He vaguely remembered John grabbing his hair and that simple gesture had sent him over the edge and all memories after that were a pleasurable blur. Never expected the firm pulling of his hair to induce such pleasure, he mused and then thought of the other times his hair had been pulled or yanked on. Yeah, none of them were nice encounters.

Feeling his buttocks practically stuck together with dried semen, lubricant and sweat, he moved to the edge of the bed and slowly stood to make his way to the loo. His body ached but it was an expected level of discomfort. He sighed as he stepped under the pounding hot water and felt his muscles start to ease. Lathering the flannel, Sherlock scrubbed between his cheeks and felt a momentary flare of pain from his sensitive flesh. Soreness for an estimated three to four days, he thought to himself and scrubbed the dried layers of semen off his abdomen and chest. He would immediately start taking his suppressants to avoid ever having to do this again. He ignored the twinge of sorrow that erupted in his chest and the screech that echoed through his head. He was Sherlock Holmes, he was above all these feelings and this Omega crap. He didn't need anyone to fill that void that swirled behind his heart. He had lasted years without any Alpha by his side and he had lasted years without John Watson. _Yes, but do you want to continue the years without Alpha John Watson by your side?_ his mind whispered and Sherlock's lip curled in response. He hated it when his mind argued with him.

Lathering his hair, he rinsed the suds out and swirled the knobs off. He stood silently in the shower, listening to the soft drips from the draining shower head. The sounds echoed in the tiled room and he could hear John moving around in the nearby kitchen. Taking a deep breath of the humid air, he held it for a moment before releasing it slowly. Building his barriers back up, he stepped from the shower and quickly dried himself. Wrapping himself in a towel, he went back to his room and pushed open the window to air the room out before selecting clothes. Time to put all this behind him.

He exited the bedroom after grabbing his mobile and was already scanning through the plethora of missed emails, texts and calls. John looked up from his plate of toast and cup of tea to blink in surprise at seeing Sherlock dressed like he was going out.

"Sherlock?"

The detective didn't look up as he grabbed his coat with one hand and texted with the other. Without pausing, he slipped the mobile into a pocket and swung the coat over his shoulders to slip his arms into the sleeves.

"Lestrade messaged about a box of unsolved cases they found in storage. I'm heading down there now. I'm not sure when I'll be back," he replied and grabbed his scarf before heading towards the door.

"Sherlock, are you sure you should be going out? You just finished with your first heat. It'll take your body a day or two to recover," John said as he slipped off his stool and met Sherlock at the top of the stairs.

"I'm perfectly fine, John. Just because we spent a heat together doesn't mean you can hover," Sherlock said and stepped around John to start down the stairs.

"I'm not hovering, Sherlock, but we just spent five days fucking almost constantly. We're both dehydrated and we haven't eaten any solid food in those five days. You need to take it easy."

"Enough, John. You used me to help solve your Alpha issues and now that it's over we can get back to normal," Sherlock said before clattering down the stairs.

"Used you to...Sherlock, we both used your heat to solve problems for each of us. You had someone that you knew to help you through it and I spent it with someone I lo-...trusted. Why would you-"

Sherlock had increasingly become annoyed as John's words reminded him of his heat. He wished he could delete it but it had stubbornly remained after thirty-one attempts. He didn't want to be thinking of how good John's hands felt on his skin...or his tongue for that matter. Sherlock stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at John. He executed the final thrust.

"You used my body and I let you. Let's drop it and never talk about it again. I'll be home late," Sherlock said and turned to open the door and disappear onto the street.

John stared at the empty landing and blinked in confusion. Sherlock thought he…? Did he really…? John slowly turned and walked back towards the kitchen. He was still one moment and then the next he flailed his arms around wildly before clenching them at his side and breathing deeply. Better than punching a wall, he snorted and went to sit back at the table. Better to start calming down before planning what he was going to say to Sherlock when the idiot came back.

Two cups of tea and he was almost finished reading through the newspaper. His temper had simmered back to normal levels and now he was just drained. He should have known Sherlock would stab him in the back with this. Should? No, he knew Sherlock would do this. Even when he extracted the vow from Sherlock, he saw the hairs that Sherlock would split. Sherlock liked to think that no one ever saw his ulterior motives but John saw more than he let on. He had to during his time with the Army; look for the hidden intentions and overlook the obvious. He knew Sherlock was just lashing out because of emotions he didn't understand but the unspoken word was still hovering there. Sherlock was just a step or two away from saying rape. Despite knowing it wasn't, John still felt that icy ball curl deep in his chest and begin to chill everything it touched.

Realizing he had almost shredded the newspaper in his hands, John took a deep breath and carefully set the paper onto the countertop. Hearing the door downstairs open and Mrs Hudson's voice greeting someone, John stood and carried his plate and mug to the sink. He knew it wasn't Sherlock and he wasn't really interested in any visitors. He felt a flash of annoyance at the approaching pair of footsteps and then more annoyance at the solid thunk of an umbrella striking every other step. Great, he wasn't dressed to receive the Queen. God, he really was spending too much time around Sherlock.

"What do you want Mycroft? Now is really not the best time," John called without turning around.

"John, we need to talk."

Something in Mycroft's voice made John pause in rinsing his mug. Setting the mug aside, he slowly turned. John's gaze swept over Mycroft but centered on the other man standing next to him. Special Agent Marcus Mordecai finished glancing around the cluttered flat and turned his attention back to John. Mordecai was dressed down today in jeans, rugged boots and a button down with a jacket. John would bet his pension that Mordecai had at least two handguns and some other weapon on his person. If both of them are here then it must be about the Omega sex ring he thought. And they waited till Sherlock was gone. Yeah, John needed real pants on.

"Make yourselves at home. I'll get dressed and then we can talk."

John didn't wait and took the stairs two at a time. He pulled on a reliable pair of jeans and a long sleeve black undershirt. A thick cable knit gray sweater went over that and he tugged on comfortable trainers. Tucking his gun into his waistband, he was back downstairs in under eight minutes. Mycroft had pilfered the kitchen and managed to produce three decent mugs of tea. John tried not to smirk at Mycroft's barely repressed horror at not having the appropriate china. Mordecai seemed just happy with the tea, no matter what vessel it came in.

"Alright. Talk to me," John ordered and took a sip from the steaming mug.

Mordecai handed him a folder which John took over to the nearby coffee table and couch. Setting himself on the edge of the couch, John set the folder down in front of him and flipped it open with one hand while holding his mug with the other hand.

"The sex ring is far more widespread than we originally anticipated. It has been linked to various governments at various levels. Far more than we believed and this has resulted in crossed information channels, extradition screw ups, harassment charges and diplomatic immunity being waved around among other things," Mycroft said as John flipped through the information.

John raised an eyebrow at the underlying note of frustration he heard in Mycroft's voice. He continued to leaf through the papers and realized just how far reaching the ring was and they were just scratching at the surface. There were fraudulent finances, shell corporations and fake nonprofit organizations all acting as fronts for the sex ring.

"Jesus, this is tied to the French and Greek governments. Three Italian Ministers make yearly donations to four of these six fronts. Taking this ring down is going to shake up a lof of governments," John said in disbelief as he scanned through the other documents.

"And you shot one of the members of the House of Lords with enough tranquilizer to down an elephant. He also sits on several important boards," Mordecai said with a smirk and John's gaze snapped from the papers to the military man.

"You mean the arsehole who was fingering Sherlock when I found them? He's in the House of Lords?"

"Yes and he has been allowed bail," Mycroft said and leaned forward to offer another folder to John.

John opened the file and read over the details of one Baron Patrick Brickston Tupton. The picture included was obviously a publicity shot that had probably been photoshopped within an inch of its' life. Coifed hair, pearly white teeth and a smile that screamed 'don't mind me while I steal your child'. When John first saw him he had three fingers buried in his best friend's arse. He merged the image of the man he had seen at that point with the photograph and committed them to memory. Not hearing either of the men speaking, John raised his gaze and looked to Mycroft. The elder Holmes was flexing his grip on his umbrella as he stared at John.

"Since attaining bail, Baron Tupton has quietly started to gather information about Sherlock. We're not sure exactly what he plans on doing with this information but it can't be good. History has shown that anyone collecting information about Sherlock usually does not have the best of intentions in mind," Mycroft said with a mild grimace and John wondered if he sometimes counted himself in that category.

"So you think this Baron has formed an unhealthy attraction to Sherlock?"

"What do you think?" Mycroft asked as he raised an eyebrow at John.

John leaned back and thought over the one time he encountered the man. A memory swarm forward: _purchasing you for my own private collection_. John blinked and recalled the stark handprint on one of Sherlock's arse cheeks. Looking back on the memory now, John could hear the underlying thread of possessiveness from the other Alpha.

"I think that there is a high possibility of it. If that's the case, what is our next step?" John said and closed the file.

"Normally, we would wait until the Baron made a move towards the younger Mr. Holmes but now that you two have shared a heat that will have to change," Mordecai said and John refused to blush. He knew that the scent of sex was still in their air.

"You think he's going to come after me?"

"To clear the field of competition. Given the fact that Sherlock now has your scent all over him and his Omega has accepted it makes it even more tricky," Mycroft explained while staring at the handle of his umbrella.

"Tupton has already identified Sherlock as his and doesn't take well to any other Alpha challenging his claim? So he's going to try and eliminate me?" John asked as a frisson of adrenaline raced through his blood.

"Tupton in general does not like to be challenged. It's not that his Alpha is considerably strong or dominant but that he has his fingers in enough enterprises to cause problems for important people. He attributes it to his Alpha but it's really the other people knowing how to play him."

"So, he's not going to be subtle about it. Why are you not telling Sherlock about this?" John asked as Mordecai stood and walked to the kitchen to set his mug on the counter.

"We need Mr. Holmes to continue acting like he normally does. Also to act like a wronged Omega. He can pretend very well but he can't fake his Omega nature," he replied and realization dawned on John.

He ground his teeth and turned his stony gaze to Mycroft. The older Holmes was expecting it and nodded slowly.

"How?" John growled.

"The only cameras Sherlock permits are directed towards Mrs. Hudson's door for her overall safety and the stairwell. They only activate and remain that way during the time there is motion in range of the camera. And yes, we heard and saw everything this morning."

That meant they heard Sherlock accuse John of using him. Fury flooded John's system and he rolled his shoulders and head to try and disperse the hot emotion. Despite the urge to take his anger out on the two men in the sitting room with him he knew they weren't the ones to blame. No one was really to blame, situational factors were though.

"We're hoping that Tupton discovers that Sherlock spent his heat with you and that he now smells like you. That will hopefully provoke the Alpha to lash out and we can catch him in the act with solid evidence," Mordecai explained as he returned to his seat and sat on the edge to lean forward and clasp his hands together.

"You're setting me up as bait, basically," John commented.

Mycroft shrugged. "Running around with Sherlock automatically makes you bait. This time we're just exploiting it."

"Nice to know I'm so important to you Mycroft," John grumbled and stood to feel like he was doing something.

"Doctor Watson, if you ever repeat this then I will vehemently deny it and have your body shipped to South America but you will never know just how important you have been to the Holmes family, to myself and even to Sherlock; despite his denial." Mycroft's eyes sharpened. "And that topic is now closed. Understood?"

John hesitated for a moment. "You're such a sweet talker, Mycroft. Who knew?"

Mycroft grimaced before standing. Mordecai followed suit and while Mycroft went for the door, he approached John.

"To ease your reservations, I have three agents following young Mr. Holmes as we speak and will continue to do so until I call them off. When you step out the door, you will also have three shadows. I'll have a package dropped off for you tomorrow and it will contain my contact information. I look forward to working with you, Captain."

John nodded and shook the Interpol agent's hand before he disappeared down the stairs and out the door after Mycroft. John stared after them for a while before sitting in his chair. His gaze slid to the violin case Sherlock had propped up in his chair. The lacquered case reflected a distorted image of John but he wasn't even seeing that. Unwillingly, his mind had focused on the atrocities he had seen during the war. Horrible things done to Omegas because they were 'owned' and someone's 'property'. John rationalized that Tupton wouldn't be as bad as he was imagining but that didn't stop his fears or concerns. Right, if he was required to be bait to save Sherlock, then John Hamish Watson would be bait. Even if it killed him.

(!)(!)(!)

Huge appreciation goes to MyFirstistheFourth for helping with proofing and encouraging this story. Her stories are amazing and a joy to read so go and read her stuff. Go! Go now! Thank yous to everyone that reviewed and alerted and favorited. You guys are just awesome!


	6. Attack

John stopped on the pavement outside of 221 Baker Street and zippered his coat closed. Thrusting his hands into the pocket, he jogged across the street and started down the road. Things had been tense between Sherlock and himself ever since the first morning after Sherlock's completed heat. John had tried to have a civil conversation and not let his temper get the better of him but Sherlock was having none of it. Sherlock just ignored him or left the room whenever he brought up the topic. John was ready to pull out his hair. Sherlock was civil towards him but nothing more. Nothing like they used to have; the relaxed, camaraderie that sparked a minor fan following. Not that John felt a little pride at that or anything. Even at crime scenes or the morgue everyone could sense the heightened tension between the two men.

Hunching his shoulders against the gusty wind, his path took him through Regents Park and towards a coffee shop he enjoyed visiting whenever Sherlock pissed him off. John just needed to get a good cup of strong coffee and a pastry of some sort around people that he didn't want to smack.

His steps slowed as his sixth sense tingled at the base of his neck. That tingle had saved his hide more than once during his time in Afghanistan. He had ignored it only once, just before taking the bullet; learned a lesson that day. Always beware the tingle. This tingle wasn't coming from his own security detail. He had long adapted to that. He also knew they wouldn't do anything unless a violent act was directed towards him. His eyes were drawn to his ten o'clock where a suited man was walking across the lawn. While taking note of him, he noticed more movement behind him. Facing forward again he saw three men coming from his one o'clock and he easily recognized the one in front.

Baron Patrick Brickston Tupton glanced over his shoulder and the two body guards following him stopped at a respectful distance. The Baron continued towards where John had stopped in the middle of the park. John took in the bespoke suit, highly polished shoes, immaculate suit and never knew shit could look so well put together. His hair was coiffed perfectly and John figured he could probably bounce a tennis ball off it there was so much hairspray. Tightening his posture, John pulled his hands out from his pockets and kept them at his side. Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream and he became hyper-aware of every possible threat surrounding him. Tupton, as well as the bodyguards, had at least three inches on John, but John had been short all his life and knew quite well how to take down guys much bigger than himself. The smile Tupton put on for him made John want to vomit...or punch Tupton; John hadn't decided which yet. Perhaps both were actually called for in this case.

"Dr. Watson, such a pleasure and surprise to bump into you here," Tupton said with an oily smile.

John's eyebrow quirked. "Judging by the extra two bodyguards you have flanking me I doubt this was a surprise. Also the fact that three of the four are carrying handguns makes me also question your intent. I would assume the fourth man is also armed but I try not to assume. What do you want?"

"To the point, I like that. I'm here to buy your Omega."

It was only a few simple words but it took a while for the meaning to register with John. This...rat wanted to buy a human; wanted to buy Sherlock Holmes from John. John was definitely leaning towards a punching; consequences be damned.

"First off, you don't just 'buy' a human being. Second, his name is Sherlock Holmes, not just 'Omega'. Third, he'll never be for sale," John snarled as rage started to roll down his spine.

"Come now, Doctor. Everyone can see the tension between the two of you. The honeymoon period is obviously over despite the...unfortunate heat you shared. I'm simply here to take it off your hands," he replied with a smile like he was offering to relieve John of a pet that had pissed on the carpet.

Blood roared in John's ears at Tupton's verbiage; take 'it' off John's hands. The arse saw Sherlock as a thing, a play thing to be exchanged, used and put away when he was done with it or it had served it's purpose. His anger surpassed rage, skipped over overwhelming fury and planted itself firmly in apocalyptic wrath. His mind washed clear of everything else and a deadly silence fell over John. His army mates spoke of John Watson's wrath and the destruction he could bring about. Stories were still circulating around the corps and John had been out for years. Sherlock hadn't even encountered this level of anger while living with John. Eyeing Tupton, John easily saw the order of strikes he could unleash on the other man and knew without a doubt that he would need to spend a few days in hospital to recover. The four body guards wouldn't know what hit them either once they reached for John. John took a deep breath and mentally imagined a wave of calm flowing through his limbs. Definitely beyond punching now. Burying him alive maybe? Slow torture? Outright killing is bad. Dismembering him was a bit bad as well.

"Listen here...Pat, and listen well. Sherlock Holmes is not yours and will never be yours. Once you realize that then things will go much smoother all around. Until then, stay away from him and stay away from me or I will put you down like the rabid mongrel you are," John said quietly and saw the two bodyguards behind Tupton tense.

They were smart. They heard the steel threading through John's words and could read in his posture that this wasn't going to be easy. Tupton was an idiot though. His chest puffed out and he stepped forward to use his size to intimidate John. Alpha pheromones saturated the air around John but it didn't even give him pause. Tupton was not a man to be concerned about.

"Are you threatening bodily harm against me, sir?" Tupton snapped in his Alpha voice and looked down his nose at John.

Oh goodie, his Alpha had come out to play. John didn't like to toot his own horn but hadn't yet found an Alpha that could go toe to toe with him. Beware things in small packages, he mused.

John growled and took a step forward to thrust himself into Tupton's personal space. Holding the man's gaze, John's shoulders tightened and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he stared the other man down. John's pheromones easily smothered the others and Tupton took a step back as John followed. The growl deepened and it promised pain if challenged. The air around them thickened as John's presence pressed tightly against all of them. Tupton swallowed thickly and tried to straighten from his slight hunch but a louder growl from John had him hunkering down again. Despite Tupton's averted gaze John could see the anger at the corner of the man's eye directed at him. John hadn't even touched the man but he could feel the fear start to roll off him in waves.

"A threat implies a possibility of bodily harm. I am warning you, that I will put you and all your little lap dogs down if you bother Sherlock or myself. I. Will. End. You," John snarled softly before taking a step back.

Once the dominating presence was removed, Tupton sagged a bit before straightening angrily.

"This is not over with Watson," he snapped and John just grinned.

"I look forward to it...Pat."

Tupton grimaced at the nickname and backed away a few steps to put distance between himself and John before spinning around and storming away. He had been smart enough to not immediately show John his back and instead had almost slinked away. John glanced to the side and watched as the other two bodyguards left the park in different directions. A moment later he was alone again and he wobbled over to a nearby bench. Now that the threat was gone, so was the adrenaline. Breathing heavily, John pressed his elbows into his knees and leaned forward to rub his face. A high pitched giggle escaped him just a moment before his mobile rang in his pocket. Trying to restrain the hysterical giggles that were bubbling up, John answered the phone without looking at the screen.

"Yes, hello?"

"Doctor Watson, my team just informed me you had an encounter with the Baron. What did he say?"

It was Special Agent Mordecai. John sighed and leaned back against the bench as he glanced around the park. The giggles were effectively gone.

"He wanted to buy Sherlock from me. He seems to adhere to the old practice that Omegas are property to buy and don't count as humans. I basically told him that Sherlock wasn't for sale and if he bothers us anymore then I'll put him down as well as anyone else he sends."

"Be careful what you say to this man, Doctor Watson. We're finding out he has extensive contacts in some not so nice areas of the world. He might be in the top five organizers of this Omega sex ring. Meaning he also can bring in big muscle just with a phone call."

John nodded before sighing. "Yeah. Tread carefully. Got it. How's the case looking?"

The phone was silent for a moment before Mordecai spoke again. "Problematic. Tupton's lawyers are putting forth that Tupton was just there for a meeting, knew nothing of what was going on and was not involved in the illegal activities."

"'Not involved in illegal activities'? I walked in on him fingering Sherlock!" John spluttered and barely managed to keep his voice lowered.

"Yes, but the problem arises that no Omega was in the room when our forensic team came in to take photographs and statement. We have no statement from an Omega that was with Tupton. If you read the reports then Tupton was basically in a room by himself. Mycroft Holmes wanted Sherlock kept out of the reports and the case and we've done that, but now the only thing saying that Tupton was involved and participating is you."

John let that knowledge wash over him and he suddenly felt light headed. "I'm the only eye witness. I don't think Chase saw anything."

"Correct. He heard what Tupton was saying but didn't see Mr. Holmes. It's all circumstantial."

"Bollocks," John muttered and stood from the bench to start back to the flat.

"Yeah, if we're going to keep Mr. Holmes and yourself out of this then we need to find something else to nail down Tupton. What we really need is cause to search his office and home. Mycroft has pulled Tupton's financial records so we'll work on those and see if they give us anything."

"Alright, well let me know if I can help. I'm still on Sherlock's shite list," he grumbled and heard a chuckle on the other end of the line.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Doctor Watson. It's obvious that Mr. Holmes cares for you. It'll take him a while but he'll realize it."

"Here's to hoping I'm not old and grey by the time he does realize it."

Mordecai laughed before John terminated the call. Tupton's visit had made John realize that despite knowing Sherlock had three shadows, he would feel much better if he was there at Sherlock's side. He would just have to hold up under the withering glare and snarky comments. Oh, joy.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock leaned over the dead body and tried not to the let the stare boring into his back bother him. Molly was chattering over the toxicology report as Sherlock moved around the metal slab. He could feel John's stare burning holes into the back of his head. Lestrade had called him in on a blackmail case and John had insisted on following. The case had proven to be more intricate than Sherlock originally anticipated, turning out to be more of a seven or eight. It was enough to distract Sherlock from the growing annoyance he was feeling towards John. The man just wouldn't stay in his place. Sherlock tried to move all the memories from his heat into his locked and secured wing but they stubbornly refused to remain there. They kept relocating back to the entry vestibule in high quality, 3-D and he could not ignore them. New memories started to pile on. John making him tea, John laughing and smiling, both of them giggling at crime scenes. He started to have more sentimental feelings towards John and he was baffled by them.

He was on his third lap around the body and he still wasn't seeing anything of use. John kept intruding on his thoughts. Silently snarling, he stopped and buried both hands into his hair to grip the follicles trying to force his mind back onto the case.

"Sherlock, is everything alright?" Molly asked from where she was taking notes.

"No, nothing is right! I can't see anything on this body. It's all wrong!" Sherlock snapped and whirled around to glare at Molly and John.

"Did you want to look at the tox report again?" Molly offered softly and held out the report.

In his frustration, Sherlock slapped the file out of Molly's hands sending both file and papers flying. "No, Molly. The tox report hasn't changed any from when I looked at it eighteen minutes ago. I'm being slowed down by imbecilic morons with tiny brains. If it wasn't for me, everyone in this fucking morgue would have been fired ages ago!"

The following silence indicated to Sherlock that what he said was a bit not good. It was rare that his mouth ran away from him but occasionally it did. Molly's bottom lip quivered but she held everything in as she stormed from the morgue and the door swung closed behind her. However, her sob did reach their ears as she hurried down the hallway.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell was that? Molly did nothing to deserve that," John snapped and glared at Sherlock as the detective swung on his coat.

"Boring, John."

Sherlock did feel bad about Molly but he'd deal with that later once he got away from John. Couldn't let John know that he actually did apologize and knew he was in the wrong. He strode from the morgue and heard John clattering behind him. During the walk through the hospital John kept his mouth shut but once they reached the outside he let it fly.

"Again: what the hell, Sherlock? And don't you dare say 'boring' or I will chin you," John yelled as he hurried after Sherlock as he walked down the pavement.

John stepped around Sherlock and blocked his path. Sherlock's long legs easily took him around John and he continued down the pavement. He had to get away from John to clear his head and get rid of this silly infatuation. A firm hand grabbed his elbow and jerked him around to face an angry John.

"What is your problem, Sherlock? You have been short with everyone and biting their heads off for no obvious reason. Most everyone can tolerate it because they expect it from you but not Molly."

"Molly needs to grow a thicker skin. Life is never what you want it to be. She should get use to disappointments," Sherlock muttered and wrenched his arm from John's grip to start walking again.

John circled around Sherlock and shoved him backwards. Thankfully the streets weren't that crowded so they didn't have to worry about pedestrians getting involved in their spat.

"Oh, blow it out your posh arse and take your own bloody advice! You're right, life is never what you want it to be. You should just accept the fact and move on."

"Exactly," Sherlock replied just as John stepped into his personal space.

"Well then what have you been doing about accepting you're an Omega and acknowledging that you enjoyed your heat?"

Sherlock took a step back in surprise at the sudden change in topic as John smirked up at him. Sherlock suddenly saw where this topic was heading and frantically tried to stop it.

"John, I-"

"Enough, Sherlock! I'm tired of you taking all your frustrations out on me and everyone else. I asked you, I begged you to promise me that you wouldn't hold your heat against me but you went ahead and did it anyway! I was willing to go somewhere else for your heat but you begged me to help you through it and I did. And now you're punishing me for it! Then you practically accuse me of raping you just because you have the emotional capacity of a bloody parsnip."

"You should have known to never trust the word of an Omega in the throes of a heat. An Omega would say anything to get fucked."

Sherlock tried not to think of the fact that he knew exactly what he was saying and doing during his heat. Most of the time anyway. Definitely the particular scenes John was talking about.

"Yeah, and that Omega was you! I remember exactly how you looked begging for it, Sherlock. I wank to that image practically every night. I dream about the sounds you made and the taste of your skin. I fantasize about waking up in the morning and having a nice lay in while snuggling with you. But I know that will never happen because Sherlock Holmes has the emotional capacity of a bloody parsnip! And I am in love with the damn bloody parsnip!" John yelled and stood there panting as he stared at Sherlock.

Sherlock's jaw sagged open as his intellect tried to process the new information. John is in love with me? How? What? Hunh? Staring blankly at John, his gaze slid away and he started walking. He always thought better when he was on the move. He didn't hear John start after him and realized he was frozen in place by his own confession. Sherlock only made it halfway down the block before a few facts became very clear to him. No matter what else was going on he could always trust and count on John. He cared for John. John would always have his back. Sherlock might just love John in return.

Sherlock turned to tell this to John just as the squeal of tires reached his ears. He watched in horror as a car slid to a stop near John and a loud rapport reached his ears. In slow motion, he watched as John's chest took the brute force of the shots fired at him. The force was enough to throw John backwards, sending him crashing through a glass store window. People were screaming and going for cover as the car surged away. From where he stood Sherlock couldn't see into the front display or behind the front riser. He stared at the empty space, waiting for John to stagger out. Instead he saw two people scrabbling over the mess and yelling for an ambulance before disappearing into the store.

"John?" he murmured and started slowly walking towards the scene.

His pace sped up to a fast walk as he started to finally realize what was happening.

"John!" he yelled and started jogging before breaking into a run.

"No, no, no, no," he recited in a panic as he shoved past terrified people going in the other direction.

He caught sight of John and blood before a solid arm wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him back. Not even looking at the person holding him back, Sherlock thrashed and kicked at the restraint and struggled to get to John. A pair of paramedics pushed past everyone and into the crowded store front window. Sherlock yelled for John to answer him as his mind ran away with the last image of blood surrounding John.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, sagging as he watched the paramedics carry out a backboard with John strapped onto it.

An emergency blanket was pulled up to John's jaw and a breathing mask was covering his face. The paramedics were snapping numbers at each other as they carried John to the nearby ambulance. Sherlock's mind was flashing through all the difficulties multiple direct shots to a torso could incur. Instant death was possible but there was a breathing mask. So there was something to try and save. Sherlock went to climb in the back of the ambulance but was held back still by the stranger.

"Come on, Mr. Holmes. They're taking Dr. Watson to St. Barts, we can walk there," the older man said and pulled Sherlock down the pavement towards St. Barts.

A mobile phone appeared and he stabbed at a speed dial before holding the phone up to his ear.

"A move was made on the Doc. He's enroute to St. Barts. I have the Sherbert. Late model sedan, grey, dent on driver side door. Last seen heading South on Giltspur Street," he snapped and ended the call without listening to the other person.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked as his long legs ate up the distance to St. Barts.

"Interpol."

"No, that's who you work for. Who are you?"

"Dean. I'm one of the bodyguards assigned to your detail. We expected a move on the Doc but didn't expect this," Dean muttered and shepherded Sherlock through the doors of St. Barts.

"Who's 'we'?" Sherlock snapped as they hurried towards the A&E department.

Dean didn't answer as he pointed out the gurney being wheeled into a private room. Sherlock shoved past him and scurried into the room just in time to see the excitement.

John was surging off the gurney in a blind panic as the paramedics, nurse and attending backed away to avoid the flying fists. Blood was splattered over John's torso and face as he staggered against the wall and started gasping for air. Before anyone could reach him John started jerking off his coat and jumper. Just as the jumper cleared John's head, Sherlock saw how he was able to survive multiple rounds to his chest. A kevlar vest was strapped tightly to John's torso and it was pockmarked from where it stopped the bullets. His hands were scrabbling at the velcro straps and he was gasping words as Sherlock stepped closer to hear.

"Can't breath! Can't breath!"

Sherlock didn't hesitate as he reached out and started pulling at the velcro straps.

"Give him the oxygen!" Sherlock snapped and batted John's hands away as he started to ease off the kevlar vest.

Underneath the vest was an undershirt which Sherlock took a pair of shears to, cutting it from John's body. John was pressing the mask to his face as he sucked in the pure oxygen. Sherlock grimaced when he finally caught sight of John's bare torso. The bruises were already starting to appear and they promised to be colorful. Sherlock looked up just as John's eyes rolled into the back of his head and Sherlock managed to catch the older man before he hit the ground. Lifting him up, he carried John to the gurney and stepped towards John's head as the attending started working on him. The blood was coming from the multiple cuts that inevitably happen when someone goes crashing through a glass window. A nurse shoved Sherlock and Dean outside of the room while xrays were taken and that was when Mycroft and another man showed up.

"Dean?"

"Doc was wearing his vest. Possibly some damage to his ribs and some minor contusions from the glass but he will recover from that."

Mycroft sagged in relief as did the other man and Sherlock glared between the two of them. Knowing that John was definitely not going to die now, Sherlock was realizing that he had been left out of the loop on something important.

"What is going on, Mycroft? Why was John almost gunned down in the middle of the street?" Sherlock growled and watched as Mycroft glanced first at the other man before looking at the attending that came through the door.

"Yes, how is Doctor Watson?"

"Luckily, the vest deflected the direct impact from the six bullets and nothing penetrated. However, the impact did fracture three ribs and bruised five of them. He had some trouble breathing but that's resolved itself. He also suffered a minor blow to the head which we're watching. Once he wakes up, we'll keep him for a few hours to make sure there are no problems from the ribs or head wound but I don't see why he couldn't go home later. You can go in to sit with him if you'd like."

Mycroft held the doctor back and spoke with him as Sherlock and Dean entered the room. John was resting on the bed with a nasal cannula in place to provide oxygen and his torso was decorated with various size plasters. His forearm was wrapped in a bandage from a deeper gouge. He was still dressed from the waist down and his partially ruined jumper was folded on a nearby chair. Sherlock walked over to the chair and picked up the jumper to finger the bullet holes. He counted six ragged holes in the hunter green colored fabric. His eyes were drawn to two holes in the upper right area of the jumper. Either of those two would have pierced John's heart if he hadn't been wearing the vest, Sherlock realized and shakily sat in the chair. Dean stood silently against the wall as Sherlock scooted the chair closer and carefully threaded his fingers in with John's while he clutched the jumper in his other hand. Sherlock couldn't believe how close he had come to losing John. Behind his closed eyelids, Sherlock relieved John crashing through the window and the shock on his face.

Looking up at John's face, Sherlock took in the slackness and the small cuts that didn't need plasters. Sherlock recalled the argument they were having just before the accident. John loved him. And Sherlock loved John. Sherlock gripped John's hand tighter and breathed steadily through his nose to control his uprising emotions. _Stupid Omega emotions,_ he snarled but knew that what he was feeling couldn't be placed at the Omega's feet. John had become integral to Sherlock's life.

A moan ceased Sherlock's continued thoughts and he blinked to see John's face grimacing. Standing, he dropped the jumper to the seat he just vacated and stepped closer to the bed. Before opening his eyes John tried to sit up and fell back with a gasp. His eyes popped open to stare at the ceiling above him as he panted against the pain.

"John?"

John's eyes darted towards Sherlock and recognition was there before his gaze went back to the ceiling. Groaning as he bit his lip, John's free hand reached up and pressed gently against the side of his chest wall.

"Ribs?"

Sherlock knew exactly what he was asking. "Three fractures and five bruised ribs. In the doctor's words, 'very lucky'."

John groaned. "Oh, I don't feel lucky right now. Help me up."

Sherlock was about to argue with him but John was already pawing at the nasal cannula and starting to roll onto his side. Sliding his hands under John's side, Sherlock helped tip him upwards and kept his hands on John as the older man breathed against the pain.

"What happened?" John groaned and slowly reached a hand up to the back of his head.

The words froze in Sherlock's throat as he took in John's confusion. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Sherlock knew he had to tread carefully.

"What's the last thing you remember, John?"

John's brow furrowed as he gently prodded his ribs, almost absentmindedly as he thought over Sherlock's question.

"The only definite thing I remember is being at the flat...I was eating Thai...I think," John answered and rubbed at his forehead.

Sherlock wheezed deeply as he staggered back and collapsed into his chair. That was the night before. John didn't remember going to St. Barts with Sherlock. He didn't remember Sherlock being rude to Molly. John didn't remember the argument on the pavement. Didn't remember shouting that he was in love with the parsnip...uh, in love with Sherlock. He didn't remember the shooting. John was missing the whole morning. Possibly the last seven hours. Should Sherlock tell him about the argument? Bring up the reason why they had gotten into an argument? Maybe not the reason of the argument but he could tell John the outcome of the argument. Churning up his courage, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak just as the door opened to admit the attending doctor, Mycroft and Mordecai. Sherlock's courage shriveled up but he kept all this hidden from the other men occupying the room.

"Watson, how are you feeling?" Mordecai asked and John grunted before replying.

"Like I took a cannon ball to the chest. Someone want to fill me in on what happened?"

"Are you having some trouble with your memory, Doctor Watson?" the attending asked as he approached the bed.

He held up a small torch and John nodded before the attending checked John's pupils. "I remember being at the flat eating Thai. Taking Sherlock's reaction I'm going to assume I'm missing some time but I'm not sure how much."

Everyone eyes turned to Sherlock and he suddenly felt the need to crawl under his chair. Hunh, that's a new urge.

"That was last night. He went to bed a little after ten, woke at 6," Sherlock supplied and stood from his chair to walk to his brother.

The attending nodded and proceeded to evaluate John while Sherlock turned his attention to his sibling.

"You've been keeping information from me," he murmured softly and tried not to let his temper get the better of him.

Mycroft's gaze slid over to him and he stared for a moment before turning his gaze back to John and the attending. Sherlock waited until the attending finished and said the John could go back home as long as someone was there to watch over him. Just as the door closed behind the attending, Mycroft pulled out his mobile and pressed a few keys before handing it over to Sherlock and starting to speak for John's benefit.

"An article has appeared on The Telegraph website that reports Doctor John Watson was severely injured in a shooting and is in critical care. Doctors are unsure whether he will survive the next twenty-four hours. Associate of John Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes is reported to be at the hospital with his friend," Mycroft said while Sherlock scanned the article.

John looked between Mycroft and Mordecai and read the undertones. "The article is for Tupton?"

"You were on the pavement with Sherlock when a car pulled up and basically gunned you down. You took six rounds to your chest. The vest stopped the projectiles but the close proximity damaged your ribs. Not wanting to alert Tupton that we're on to him we've convinced the attending to falsify your medical reports. I'll have Anthea continue to feed false stories to The Telegraph until this is over with."

"Six rounds? Jesus," John muttered and started to wiggle towards the edge of the bed.

"Where do you think you're going John?" Sherlock asked, stepping forward to stop the older man.

John raised an eyebrow and glanced down at his jumper. Gritting his teeth, he started to pull on the ruined jumper before answering.

"I am going to go and hide at home until my ribs are better. I am not going to be stuck at this hospital," John replied and hissed as he raised his arms.

Growling, Sherlock moved closer and carefully snagged the ruined jumper with one hand while stilling one of John's arms with the other. Without a word, he started to gently maneuver John's arm into the jumper's sleeve and pulled the garment down. Sherlock tilted his head forward and took in a subtle breath of John's scent. The warmth that curled in his chest wasn't a surprise anymore now that he knew where it came from. He was in love with John Wason. He wanted John as his Alpha. His Omega wanted to bond with the Alpha someone had just tried to kill. Feeling a small growl start up his throat, Sherlock bit it back and swallowed tightly. Helping with the other arm, he gently tugged the jumper down until it settled on John's shoulders. Sherlock took a brief moment to enjoy being in John's personal space before turning to look over his shoulder at Mycroft.

"Mycroft?"

"There is a regularly scheduled laundry van about to leave with a load. We can sneak John out in that van and return him to Baker Street to recover. Sherlock, we can sneak you out as well but at some point we'll need to sneak you back so you can make an appearance for the media," the politician replied and Sherlock nodded in approval.

Mycroft nodded at Dean and the other man disappeared out of the room. Mycroft looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

"Ready, Doctor Watson? We need to talk about Tupton once we arrive at Baker Street."

John pushed aside Sherlock's helping arm and slid off the bed. Grimacing painfully as he straightened, he wrapped an arm around his torso and smiled grimly.

"Get me home."


	7. Clarification

It was easier than planned getting John back to Baker Street. The laundry vans were a regular occurrence at all hospitals; this one wasn't special. There was only a small crowd of reporters at the front of hospital but nothing to be of concern. There was no one waiting at Baker Street other than Mrs. Hudson who immediately started fussing over John. John smiled but quickly wiggled out of Mrs. Hudson's hug and went up the stairs. Sherlock grimaced at Mrs. Hudson and promised to keep an eye on John for her. Mycroft and Mordecai were already upstairs and seated when John and Sherlock entered the room. John continued up the stairs again to change tops but stopped when he sensed Sherlock right behind him.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm coming to help you change jumpers. You're unable to lift your arms past forty-five degrees because of your ribs. You'll need help," Sherlock replied, feeling he was stating the obvious.

"Uh, no, Sherlock. I do not need your help to change. Bugger off," John muttered and slowly climbed the stairs.

Sherlock stared after John and tried to understand the sudden shift of attitude. John had just said a few hours earlier that he was in love with Sherlock. It was….oh. John didn't remember their argument on the pavement. His memories were from the time when Sherlock was still being cruel to John about his heat. When he had either been ignoring John or throwing out cruel barbs when he did acknowledge him. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty and Sherlock usually scoffed at the saying but now he understood the meaning.

Now he could look back and see the interactions between John and himself and realized how badly he had treated his friend. John had been nothing but helpful and respectful after Sherlock's heat.

Sherlock listened to the footsteps walk away from him as he slowly turned and walked into the sitting room. Mycroft was standing by the windows and Mordecai was sitting on the couch. Sherlock knew they had heard the exchange. Shrugging off his jacket, Sherlock draped the garment over John's chair and went into the kitchen. He started making tea just so he could feel like he was doing something. John would appreciate the tea, Sherlock whispered to himself and his Omega silently agreed. Sherlock never entertained the idea of listening to his Omega nature but it was starting to make itself known more frequently now. It had tasted what it was like to be with an Alpha, to be respected and valued. Sherlock swore to himself that after all this, he would go to his mind palace, focus on what he wanted and then talk to John about it.

The tea was ready by the time John made it back downstairs. He was looking a few shades paler but passed on the painkillers. Accepting the cup of tea from Sherlock, John stared at his chair for a few moments before deciding it would be too painful to try and sit. Instead, he leaned against the desk and slowly drank his tea. Neither of the four men wanted to break the uncomfortable silence that pervaded the flat. Eventually Mordecai cleared his throat loudly.

"We should talk about what just happened. Tupton won't stop until he's certain John is dead," Mordecai said as Mycroft turned to face the group.

"I have Anthea leaking falsified medical reports to the papers detailing John's condition as critical. We'll have to move quickly. St. Barts is not a secured location," Mycroft answered and John nodded as Mordecai handed John a file.

Sherlock was not accustomed to being left out of the loop but he apparently was now. He watched the three men talk and tried to scramble his brain to keep up.

"Alright, stop! What is going on?" he asked loudly and saw all of them look up at him.

John glanced at the other two before setting aside the file to look at Sherlock. "I'm not sure how much you remember from before I found you, but the man that was in the room with you wants you back. Badly. His name is Baron Patrick Brickston Tupton and his first attempt was to contact me and offer to buy you from me. Once that didn't work, he tried to have me killed on the street. I'm also the only one that saw him...assaulting you in that room. So I'm the only eyewitness to his crimes. Unfortunately, Tupton is also a member of the House of Lords so we have to play very delicately."

"But you said you dosed Tupton with tranquilizers so he should have still been there when they finished raiding the building," Sherlock said as he tried to bring forth any memories.

John nodded as Mordecai answered.

"Correct, he was, but he was found in an empty room with no Omega to press charges against him. None of my team saw him engage in any illegal activities. The only one who did was Doctor Watson. Tupton's attorneys are pressing that he was not part of the activities, that he was only there for a meeting and knew of nothing going on in the other rooms."

Sherlock was about to speak but he answered his own questions. Yes, John could testify against Tupton but there was still no real victim. Sherlock was the only victim that Tupton had assaulted. The thought of calling himself the victim made Sherlock nauseous. No one who knew him would ever describe him as a victim. But he was the one that was physically and sexually assaulted by Tupton. To step forward and testify would be outting himself as an Omega. In addition to outting himself as an Omega, everything that happened would be publicized in the court case. A weak, horny, biologically driven Omega that had been forced into his heat and almost raped. And that Omega was William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Sherlock blanched before quickly getting himself under control again.

"So, since Tupton had already threatened John once you decided to put him in a vest on the off chance he might be shot at? What if they had aimed for his head? What then?" Sherlock snapped and felt panic start to crawl up his spine.

"It was a calculated risk, Sherlock. We're trying to keep your name out of this case and snag Tupton on other charges. The Omega sex ring has international ties so that's why we're working with Interpol. The money trail also ties into a few drug cartels as well as terrorist cells. We had to provoke Tupton into staging an attack on John," Mycroft interjected calmly as he stepped away from the window.

"And did you get something out of my...out of John being shot in the street to hold against Tupton?" Sherlock asked, nearly growling.

Mycroft glanced at Mordecai before looking back to Sherlock.

"Unfortunately, no. The sedan was found abandoned a few miles outside of London. Wiped down so no liftable prints. It was let by a front company that we think Tupton is in charge of but we have no proof as of yet. Tupton is very smart in that he doesn't do anything incriminating online; doesn't save any evidence of wrongdoing online. He must have everything in paper form or on a laptop that does not connect to the Internet. Both of which he probably keeps at his home office."

Sherlock snarled and turned away from the other three men. He stared into the kitchen for a moment before pulling out his mobile and doing a search on Tupton. He needed to know more about the man that threatened to hurt John. John and Mordecai talked quietly behind him for a moment before Mycroft and Mordecai departed with comments of coming by the next day after John had time to read through the material. John didn't walk them out but stayed leaning against the desk as he finished his tea. Sherlock walked over to the couch and stretched out on it after trading his mobile for the nearby laptop. An uncomfortable silence descended over the flat as John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye and Sherlock did the same. Neither really knew how to break the stalemate between the two of them.

John sighed softly and carefully straightened from his spot against the desk. He moved slowly across the room towards the kitchen and Sherlock gave up trying not to stare. He watched the way John carefully held himself to avoid aggravating his ribs and the collection of plaster visible on his hands.

"How are your ribs?" Sherlock asked as he turned his attention back to the laptop.

In his peripheral vision he saw John stop and turn to look at Sherlock. The silence stretched for a moment before Sherlock turned his head and met John's gaze. John was usually easy to read but right then Sherlock couldn't read anything of what John might have been thinking.

"They're sore but they'll heal with time. What do you want Sherlock?" John asked and he suddenly looked drained.

Sherlock panicked for a moment and wondered how much to tell John. Should he tell John what he said on the pavement? But then he realized how exhausted John looked. There were bags under his eyes and his jaw was tense from the subtle pain even standing and breathing was causing. Sherlock shook his head briefly and shelved any plans concerning professing his love for John.

"Nothing, John. You need to take your pain medicine and probably get some rest. Things with Tupton are going to come to a head soon," Sherlock said as he swiftly stood and set aside his laptop.

He walked to where his coat was draped over John's chair and dug through the pocket. Pulling out the small paper bag, he continued past John and into the kitchen. Dumping the contents out on the countertop, he turned and pulled out a glass to fill it with milk. Setting it on the counter, he also pulled out a slice of bread and set it on a napkin. In short order he handed a pill with the glass of milk out to John and quickly followed it with the bread. Reading John's question in the raised eyebrow, Sherlock flushed slightly before explaining himself.

"Pain medication is better taken with food; milk and bread are usually recommended."

Sherlock wouldn't meet John's gaze but he felt a flush run up his neck and stain his cheeks. He was torn between wanting to take care of John and wanting things to go back to normal. But he also knew that things couldn't go back to normal and part of him didn't want that to happen. He had been alone for so long. John had been his friend then his best friend then his lover. Sherlock wanted to tell him all of this but the words weren't there. The same Sherlock Holmes that could eviscerate a human just with his words was at a complete loss when he needed those same words for himself.

John rolled the pills around in his hand for a brief moment before speaking, "Thank you, Sherlock. That's...nice of you."

Tossing the pills back, John chased them with a few swallows of milk before picking up the bread and slowly walking out of the kitchen. Sherlock felt rooted to the kitchen floor as he watched the older man walk away.

"John, I-"

"I'm going to bed, Sherlock. I can't think straight with the pain and once the pill kicks in I certainly won't be able to think straight. We'll talk in the morning," he replied without looking over his shoulder.

Sherlock nodded quickly, "Okay, good, yes, in the morning."

Once the sound of John's footsteps faded away Sherlock gripped his hair tightly and threw his head back to stare at the light fixture in the kitchen. Why was this so bloody hard? He moaned to himself and slowly turned in a circle to try and clear his head. He never had problems talking to John but now it's like that first stilted conversation at Angelo's. Granted the stilted conversation was more on John's side but the memory was fresh in Sherlock's mind.

Stalking over to the fireplace, Sherlock planted his hands on his hips and stared at the reflection of the room in the mirror. He sometimes found himself doing this. Trying to look at something common from a different angle to see what he was missing. Look at a problem from a different perspective. How to talk to John and tell him what he wants. Could it even be what he needs? Ruffling his hair with one hand, he braced it against the fireplace mantle and leaned his weight against it. How did an Omega show their interest in an Alpha? Invitation for dinner? John and he ate together most nights. Offer sex? Well John and he already crossed that line...three times in one night even. A smile briefly flitted across Sherlock's lips before he shook his head. Show interest in sharing a den? They already lived together. Offer to bond? Sherlock already tried that and it backfired...horribly. Granted, he had only been trying to keep John in the flat and with him. There had been no emotion or sentiment attached. Sherlock had treated it as a bargaining chip. Maybe he should offer to bond again. Sherlock straightened quickly and turned away from the fireplace and towards the room. The hand that was against the mantle now started tapping at his bottom lip as he paced the room. His long legs had him stepping on furniture and over it as he thought through the offer to bond. Was there a specific protocol to follow? Did he just bring it up over dinner? Over drinks? He doesn't drink. Does it work over non alcoholic beverages? Is there a formal letter? Sherlock had seen bond notices in the Telegraph. Maybe he should post an ad for John and leave him the paper. No, John doesn't like to be surprised. That whole PTSD trauma issue.

Sherlock spent the rest of the night sitting on the back of his chair with his feet in the seat.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock quietly watched John from the corner of his eye as they rode up the lift to Mycroft's office. Sherlock had stayed awake the entire night and heard John roll out of bed around half eight. John had gone to take a shower and had rebuffed Sherlock's offer to join him to help wash his hair. Afterwards Sherlock realized it was probably a bit forward of him. The rest of the morning had been tense once John had gotten out of the shower. Breakfast was eaten in silence and Sherlock had actually eaten something trying to appease John. Mycroft sent a car and brought them back to his office where Mordecai and he were going over documents. Mycroft glanced up at the two men and raised an eyebrow before focusing on John.

"Anthea will be releasing statements that you've been upgraded from intensive care to critical care. Tomorrow we should get you back to hospital to get some photographs to circulate," Mycroft explained and John nodded silently as he slowly started to push off his jacket.

Sherlock helped him with it and avoided John's glance when he turned to look at him. Sherlock's intention of speaking to John about his feelings had shriveled upon seeing the expression on John's face this morning. Despite the painkiller, John hadn't gotten a good night's sleep and was grumpy. Definitely not a good mindset to be talking about sentimental and emotional things. Sherlock turned his attention to the reports and surveillance on Tupton. Best to hurry and finish the Tupton issue so they didn't have this hanging over their heads when Sherlock tried to talk to John. He still wasn't sure what words he was going to use but hoped something would come to him.

During the next five hours, the four men poured over the documents and researched through electronic footprints. As they compiled information, Anthea came in periodically to bring fresh coffee and tea. She occasionally spoke with Mycroft and stopped to speak with John on occasion. At about the halfway mark, Sherlock started getting snappy and sharp with everyone. He even yelled over his phone at one of his contacts at the Italian embassy when following a simple inquiry. He was being crueler than normal towards Mycroft and was starting to verbally lash out at John. Everything was making him furious...even himself.

For once in his life, Sherlock knew he was being an unreasonable arse and he couldn't pinpoint why. It had been getting worse and worse the longer he'd been in the conference room. He couldn't shake it and moving around the room actually seemed to make it more unbearable. And worse, his instincts were screaming at him to do something but for the life of him he couldn't understand the signals. He wanted to drag John into an unused office or closet and climb onto that beautiful cock to have it pierce him over and over. His teeth ached with the urge to bite John's neck to mark him as his. It wouldn't be a bonding bite and it would fade but that's what Sherlock wanted.

Mordecai had been shooting Mycroft concerned looks but Mycroft knew better than to try and stop Sherlock. Sherlock was seconds away from throwing a chair when the reason suddenly smacked him in the face. Tension shot through him as Anthea walked past him. She passed close enough that Sherlock caught the aroma of Omega...an unbonded Omega. She offered John a cup of tea and returned the bright smile. With a quick glance towards Sherlock, she stepped just a bit closer to John to point out something on the documents he was looking at. John said something to her softly which prompted another smile. Sherlock took another deep breath to confirm it and he realized what was bothering him. Anthea was an Omega and she was interested in John. He never expected Anthea to show interest in John because...because...Sherlock suddenly realized his grave error.

Since Anthea worked with Mycroft she had already been vetted by a Holmes brother. Sherlock didn't see the point of doing it himself because he grudgingly knew that Mycroft was just as good as he was. Sherlock looked at Anthea with fresh eyes. Professionally dressed like always but showing a bit more cleavage than normal. Cheeks rouged a bit more to bring out her color; eyes dramatic. She had stopped taking her suppressants to allow her natural aroma to present; guaranteed to attract any unbonded Alpha. An unbonded Alpha like John. It had been happening all morning under Sherlock's nose. That's why his temper had gotten shorter and more volatile. His Omega was reacting to another Omegas' interest in his mate. And his mate was simply tolerating it! It had been building all morning and Anthea's words came back to him.

"_You will never deserve John Watson."_

When he saw Anthea touch John's elbow and flutter her eyes at the doctor, Sherlock felt his world tilt. As casually as he could, he reached out and braced a hand against the closest chair while his heart seized and fell to somewhere around his stomach. Well, he used to think he didn't have a heart and it seemed it was about to be guaranteed. It seemed his heart was about to be pulverized. Part of him wanted to go and wrap his arms around John in a blatant display of 'Mine!' but knew he had no right. If John wanted to court Anthea then Sherlock would allow it; he had to. The Omega made the first move usually and the Alpha either reciprocated or not. Sherlock knew that John had expressed interest in him but he didn't remember it. Sherlock didn't know if that counted or not. Could he still accept?

He started to feel queasy at the avalanche of emotions but then he saw Anthea step even closer to John. Her breasts brushed against his arm and she whispered something into his ear before she tilted her head for a subtle display of her neck. Sherlock saw John's eyes dilate from across the room and Sherlock snapped. Anthea was blatantly making a move on John in front of Sherlock and everyone. Sherlock didn't know much about Omegaverse but he did know it was bad form to proposition an Alpha in front of another Omega that was interested. Apparently Anthea had decided that Sherlock had enough time to make his move and if he wasn't going to entertain the Alpha then she was. In three strides he reached the two and jerked John away while he glared at Anthea.

"Not yours," he growled through a haze of red.

Anthea simply raised her eyebrows in challenge as she licked her lips. Sherlock felt John tugging on his arm to get his attention but couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Not yours either. You didn't make a move so I did," Anthea whispered before her eyes slid to the man behind Sherlock with a smile.

Sherlock knew she was correct. He had not expressed his interest in a relationship with John. Given his history, no one really expected him to. To everyone looking from the outside, John Watson was available. Even John thought he was available. He knew nothing of Sherlock's interest. He needed to fix this and immediately.

Tightening his grip, Sherlock dragged the struggling doctor away. It only took a few minutes before he found another empty board room. Slamming the door shut behind him, he jerked John around to face him and started talking.

"She can't have you. I'm interested even though we haven't talked about it. You must know I want you," he said and gave John a good shake.

He felt the hand a moment before fingertips dug into the nape of his neck. His knees immediately buckled and his hands slid from John's shirt as he collapsed to the floor. The whimper slipped from his lips and his head sagged forward to bare the back of his sensitive neck. The hand gripping his neck trembled as he suddenly became aware of John panting above him. Trying to get up, Sherlock gasped as the fingers dug in and kept him on his knees. His instincts were telling him to drop his head to the floor and present himself to the dominating Alpha but the fingers kept him from moving. He couldn't even look up at John.

From the corner of his eye he did see John lean against the table. He mewled softly, wanting to help his mate but was restrained from doing so.

"Shush," John snapped and dug his fingers in briefly to reinforce his order.

Sherlock clamped his lips shut and dropped his gaze. His mate wanted him quiet, so he would be quiet. The room was silent except for John's soft pants. John's fingers slowly relaxed but didn't release the grip.

"I'm sorry to put you in such a demeaning position, but Jesus, Sherlock. It's a bit not good to grab your friend and shake him when he has fractured and bruised ribs," John said weakly and carefully pulled out a chair with his foot.

Horrified at the results of his actions, Sherlock didn't notice the hand slip from his neck. He could only watch as John slowly and painfully lowered himself into the chair. Sherlock had completely forgotten about the injured ribs. He had hurt John; unintentionally, but he had hurt him. He was a horrible Omega. Maybe he should gracefully bow out and let John have Anthea. Anthea was right...he didn't deserve John. He was foolish to think he did.

"I'm so sorry, John," Sherlock started and reached out to touch his friend.

Before his hand could make contact, John jerked out of reach and gasped at the sudden pain the movement caused. Sherlock's face flushed and he snapped his hand back. He rocked back so his arse rested on his heels and averted his gaze. He hunched his shoulders and kept his hands in his lap but couldn't stop the nervous picking at his trouser leg. John didn't want him to touch him. John didn't want him.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock's voice was barely audible but he knew John would hear him. Why would John want to bond with him? Sherlock was unfit to be a mate. He was even unfit to be an Omega and that was biological. He felt tears sting his eyes and he rubbed at them angrily. He won't feel bad for himself. He dug his grave and now he had to lay in it.

"What do you want, Sherlock? Because one moment I think I know but then you change your mind. And I end up getting burned no matter which way I turn. I'm tired of trying to read the subtext of anything you say to me," John said and paused for Sherlock to reply.

When Sherlock remained silent, John slowly stood with a grunt and walked across the room. Sherlock wanted to melt into the floor because he knew exactly what John was talking about. Sherlock had been hot and cold over the idea of bonding and acknowledging his Omega nature. His opinion changed almost hourly. And John had paid the price...repeatedly.

"I mean, I tell you that I'm in love with you and you just walk away. Then you say nothing when I wake up, don't even bring it up and then you get pissy possessive when I talk to another Omega. I can't wait forever for you, Sherlock. I'd try, God I'd try, but I won't be able to live with you if my love is unrequited."

Sherlock's head snapped up at that.

"Your mem-"

"I remember our conversation on the street. But I also remember how you treated me before that. Do you purposefully try to destroy the people closest to you? Especially the man who just said he loved you after being told when we first met that you were married to your work," John muttered and wrapped an arm around his torso.

Sherlock slowly climbed to his feet but didn't approach John. He didn't think he could handle being rebuffed twice. He could see the emotional anguish on John's face as the older man turned away from him with a sigh, looked around the room and turned back to Sherlock.

"I mean seriously, Sherlock? I'm getting whiplash trying to follow you. If you're not interested in me, then fine, but tell me so I can move on. Tell me there's no hope and I'll start looking for a new place," John muttered and cast his gaze to the side so he didn't have to look at Sherlock.

The genius in question was holding a hand to his chest to try and contain the horrifying sensation of his heart trying to climb out of his chest cavity. John leaving Baker Street? John leaving Sherlock?

"When did your memory come back?" Sherlock asked softly.

John gnawed on his bottom lip before speaking. "This morning...when I woke up."

Sherlock's mind replayed the entire morning look for anything that might have suggested to him that John had regained his memories. When John had come downstairs, he had paused upon seeing Sherlock but he did that most mornings.

"Wh-Why didn't you say something this morning then?"

John stared blankly at Sherlock. "Because you walked away from me on the pavement. I tell you that I love you and you turn and walk away. How else was I supposed to take it? I never intended to bring it up again until you just snarled at Anthea."

Just the mention of her name made Sherlock snarl silently but John saw the curled lip.

"It doesn't work that way Sherlock. You can't be possessive with nothing to back it up."

Sherlock had to fix this. Had to show John that he wanted everything John had to offer. Holding out his hands as a show of passivity, Sherlock cautiously approached John, wary of any negative reactions. Once standing closer, Sherlock stared into John's eyes before speaking softly.

"The first time I did this, it was for the wrong reasons and I realize that now. I should never have tried to manipulate you. This time it's because I want you as my mate. It's because when I think of living my life without you in it I feel ill. It's because you've seen me at my worst and still care for me. It's because hearing you make tea and fuss about the chip and pin machine makes me smile, no matter how foul my mood is. It's because you keep me in line and make me...just make me better. Everything I am...is just better with you. It's because I love you. I love you and all I can think about is you. When I do sleep, you're the last thing on my mind. When I wake, you're the first thing on my mind. I love you, John."

Sherlock sank gracefully to his knees and dropped his head to bear the scent gland on his neck.

"During my next heat, will you please share it with me...bite me? Will you be my bondmate? Will you be my Alpha?"

Sherlock felt like his heart was about to pound out of his rib cage. He could see John's trouser leg from the corner of his eye but he remained still. He would not act out impatiently. He would wait for John...wait for John to make his choice.

John took a step back in shock. Of all the things he expected Sherlock to say, this was at least in the bottom five of his list. Hell, he didn't even think it was on his list. He stared down at the man on his knees in front of him and saw a different Sherlock from what he was accustomed to. With his head tilted like it was, John could see the pulse throbbing in Sherlock's neck. His shoulders were minutely shifting in time with his heavy breathing. His lips were parted to accommodate his panting breaths. He showed all the textbook indicators of severe anxiety, almost to the point of hyperventilating. John took another step back and saw Sherlock's shoulders sag in rejection. John's mind was replaying the past week since Sherlock's heat. Accusing John of using his body for his own needs. The dismissive comments when John tried to help with cases. The passive aggressive tendencies around the flat. Sherlock's volatile temper when he didn't get his way or was told something he didn't like. When Sherlock had turned away from him on the street, the pain in his chest had been sharp and painful. But then John remembered the times that he saw the Sherlock that was hidden from everyone else. When unaware he had been caught, Sherlock watched a loving couple on the street and the longing in his eyes was painfully obvious. The unconscious flush that stained his neck when John touched him around the flat. The occasional warmth that John would see fill Sherlock's eyes. John knew that Sherlock Holmes had a soft side but had been burned so badly in the past that he hid everything vulnerable. Showing that vulnerability was difficult for him, John knew.

Instead of speaking, John stepped forward slowly and saw Sherlock's shoulders tense. Sherlock still hadn't looked at him so he couldn't see the evaluating look John was giving him. John knew he had to tread carefully. Both of them had to tread carefully. With slow movements, he softly trailed his fingertips over Sherlock's bonding gland. The gentle touch sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine and his eyelids fluttered shut. His head turned towards John but that was his only movement.

Sherlock's senses started to narrow down onto John and his touch, his scent. He thought after John had taken the second step away from him that it was the end. John would gently let him down with kind words but would eventually move out. It could still happen. Just because John was touching his bonding gland didn't mean anything. Without his consent, his upper body tilted forward and he pressed his forehead against John's thigh.

John's fingers gently carded through Sherlock's hair as he stared down at the top of the brunette's head. John knew he was at a major crossroad for both of them. If he said no, he had no doubt that Sherlock would never open himself up to another being. Would close himself off from John and digress to the most basic of friendships. But if he said yes, John might be condemning the both of them to a bond that could destroy both of them if it didn't work out. Both would end up regretting it and resenting the other for forcing this issue. They needed to talk about this more before he could answer.

Knowing his body wouldn't be happy with him if he tried to bend over, John tugged on Sherlock's shirt until the genius got the hint and stood. Before Sherlock could straighten, John cradled his head and briefly kissed the bonding gland.

"I'm not saying no but I'm not saying yes. We need to talk about this," John whispered against the warm skin.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. John wasn't turning him away. He still had a chance. Straightening to his full height, Sherlock smiled down at John and gave him a brief kiss.

"Of course John. I will not push."

John smiled before grimacing. "Did you really have to jostle me so hard?"

Sherlock flushed for a moment before remembering. Digging into his trouser pocket, he pulled out John's pain medication. Shaking out one pill, he handed it to John.

"I'm sure Mycroft has some paracetamol that will compliment this pill. It's a good stopping point for lunch so we can get you some food," Sherlock said and raised an eyebrow at John's look.

"What?"

John smiled and giggled softly. "Nothing, you brilliant man."

Sherlock flushed again and followed John back to the others. Mycroft glanced at the two of them and smiled quickly before looking back to his documents. Sherlock didn't see it but John did when Mycroft nodded subtly at Anthea. John wasn't surprised that Mycroft had nudged his brother into finally admitting his feelings for John. He was glad at least one Holmes understood relationships. Or at least had employees that understood them.

(!)(!)(!)

Another small note: To Hiiiiiiiiiii: Sorry for the stupid error on my part. I was tweaking some words that were Britpicked and I uploaded the wrong chapter afterwards. In one screen the chapter titles are alphabetized (aka Clarification, actual chapter 7) and in another screen it's in order of chapters numbers (chapter 2, aka Unpleasant Memories). I don't know if it makes sense but it was an error on my part. Thank you very much for pointing that out.

Small note: Someone berated me in a review about the fact that drug is not the past tense of drag. While, basically, she is correct I will also point out that drug (in the way I used it) is noted as a valid 'dialect past' term. In that it is used in the southern parts of the US (which I was born and raised) and my Beta reader (who is also Southern) did not correct it because for us it is a valid use. I have changed it though but just wanted to point out that fact.

Thank you everyone that has favorited and alerted and left reviews for this story. It is all greatly appreciated. A HUGE thank you goes to MyFirstistheFourth for helping with this chapter. It was really difficult and I lost a lot of drive for it and actually entertained the idea of deleting the whole thing. So huge Thanks to her for keeping me going. So, hope everyone enjoys!


	8. Anticipation

Four days later and John was 'released' from St. Barts. Sherlock made a show of supporting John as they hurried from the hospital doors to the waiting car. John had purposefully aggravated his ribs prior to exiting to be sure he had a sufficiently pained expression on his face. Sherlock's pained expression was a reaction to John's actual pain and if the cameras happened to catch a shot of it then so be it. The papers reported that John would be mending at home with Sherlock to watch over him. John rolled his eyes at that but Sherlock could see the twitch of a smile. They had agreed to put off the conversation about bonding until after they had dealt with Tupton. That didn't stop them from exchanging small touches and smiles as the following days passed. John's ribs were slowly healing and the bruising was starting to fade. Mycroft and Mordecai finally had a rough plan on how they were going to ensnare Tupton. The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming but that's all it was: circumstantial. They needed something to essentially lead the list of charges and cement everything together.

Sherlock grunted as John gently nudged his lower back while passing behind him. The experiment he was working on was starting to come to fruition and he didn't want to miss it. The sounds behind him indicated that John was washing the mugs from earlier. He smiled briefly a moment before seeing the reaction he was expecting through the microscope's eyepiece.

"Yes," he muttered and watched carefully while vaguely patting around on the table for his pencil and notepad.

Another hand stilled his as his notepad and pencil was slid under his palm. Muttering a brief thanks, Sherlock started to take notes of what he was seeing. John slid something under Sherlock's arm and left him alone. The reaction took a total of twenty-one minutes until he was satisfied with the result. Straightening from his hunched position over the microscope, Sherlock rubbed his lower back before looking at the note John left under his arm.

'Taking a nap. Gather dirty clothing so I can do washing later.'

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock finished with his notes and put away the used materials, quickly cleaning his microscope. Finishing in the kitchen, he went to his bedroom and grabbed the hamper. John and he agreed to continue sleeping separately until they talked. John didn't want to run the risk of either of them being offended by unintentional actions or reactions that would lead to a misunderstanding. Sherlock wasn't happy about it but John assured him it wasn't a lead up to him leaving.

His room overall was tidy but a few pieces of dirty clothing were scattered around. His tidiness was usually the first casualty when he came back exhausted from a case. He considered the whole Tupton affair and John's attack a case so his attention was occupied with that. Clothes washing was not a priority. He carried the hamper to the front room and set it at the top of the stairs. Also sitting at the top of the stairs was John's hamper with his dirty garments and Sherlock stared at it for a brief moment wondering at the nagging sensation he was feeling at the back of his head. Planting one hand on his hip, his other scratched absentmindedly at the back of his head while trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. He was feeling antsy like he needed to be doing something but he couldn't pin it down. He wanted to do something with the wash. Oh! His Omega side was telling him to wash his Alpha's clothing. Sherlock's nose curled up at that and he had to stop and think about it. Did he want to do the wash? Not really. Would he get anything out of it? Definitely not. Would John be happy that he did it without being asked? Yes...unless Sherlock ruined the clothing while trying to wash it. Which was highly possible.

Hearing Mrs. Hudson downstairs, a bright idea suddenly sparked, Sherlock grabbed his hamper and stacked it on top of John's before carrying both down the stairs. His vision was impeded but he had walked these stairs drunk, drugged, stoned, exhausted and backwards (long story and he didn't want to get into it). Soon enough he was standing in front of the washer with Mrs. Hudson giving him directions on sorting and how to operate the machine. They got the first load started and Sherlock was about to start up the stairs when Mrs. Hudson called him back.

"Sherlock, dear, we won't have enough washing powder to finish all of this laundry. Would you mind terribly going to get some more? I'd go but I have some baking in the oven I need to keep an eye on," she said apologetically and cast a look over her shoulder towards the kitchen.

Sherlock hesitated briefly. John didn't like it when he went out by himself when Tupton was still on the hunt. A glance at his watch confirmed it was late afternoon. It would still be busy out. Deciding quickly, he glanced at the box to to commit what he needed to memory before jogging up the stairs to collect his scarf and jacket. Several minutes later he was walking down the street towards the local Tesco. He noticed Mycroft's tails after a block but shrugged them off. Until the Tupton affair was finished, he would tolerate the shadows.

The Tesco was as busy as usual when Sherlock stepped through the doors and grabbed a small basket. He made a beeline straight for the chemical aisle and quickly found the box he needed. Grabbing two boxes he started back towards the front but slowed when he glanced at the tea aisle out of the corner of his eye. He turned sharply and went down the aisle to look over the variety of teas. It happened to be luck that he had noticed the low tea stash this morning when John made tea. He knew this would make John smile. Suddenly thinking about biscuits, Sherlock made for the biscuits. He knew the type that John bought, for special occasions he said, but Sherlock knew they were John's favorite so he tried to limit getting them for himself.

The biscuit aisle was empty except for an employee stocking the shelves. Sherlock's sharp eyesight quickly narrowed down onto the familiar boxes but he stood there for a moment trying to remember which flavor John preferred. He heard the stocker finish and start to push the pallet down the aisle but paid him no mind. He had the choices narrowed down to two options and was actually considering buying both to cover his bases. Reaching for the first box, he gasped when a hand clamped over his mouth and jerked him back a moment before something sharp was jabbed into his arm. He dropped the basket but didn't hear it hit the floor as drugs raced through his system. He struggled briefly but the large hand had covered his mouth and pinched his nose shut so he was quickly running out of air. Just as black spots started to cloud his vision, he felt his knees buckle as the drugs started to pull him under a black cloud. He was floating as he was lifted and dumped into a dark box. The sound of wheels rolling followed him into unconsciousness.

(!)(!)(!)

John groaned softly as he slowly awoke and carefully stretched, mindful of his ribs. Relaxing into the bed for a brief moment, he sighed before rolling out of bed and grabbing his shirt from the nearby chair. Tugging it on, he padded barefoot down the hallway and made for the kitchen and kettle. While waiting for the tea to steep he heard his mobile ring in the sitting room and went to answer it.

Just as he answered it he glanced over at the couch expecting to see Sherlock stretched out on it. Not seeing him caused a frisson of panic to run up his spine just as he answered.

"Yes, hello?" he asked while walking towards the loo. Maybe he was taking a shower and John just didn't register the noises.

"John, Sherlock's been taken," Mycroft's voice said and it stopped John just as he pushed open the door.

"He what?!"

"Mordecai and I are almost to your flat. We'll fill you in then."

The phone call ended and John remained frozen staring at the mirror in the loo. The man in the mirror was pale in shock and the mobile next to his ear slowly lowered to his side. His hair was in disarray and a hand lifted to run through it to disrupt it even more. Sherlock had been taken again by Tupton. Tupton was adamant that Sherlock be his. A shining trophy on his mantle...or, in truth, in his bed. John blanched at the thought but swiftly followed that thought with the smoldering certainty that he wasn't going to let that happen.

With shocking ease his face fell into the hardened mask that he had worn during war. In short order he was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, simple but unlikely to catch and snag on something. Just as he was pulling on his shoes, he heard the downstairs door open and voices drift up the stairs to the flat. He reached the sitting room about the same time as Mycroft and Mordecai.

One look at Mycroft and John knew he was just as angry as he himself was that Sherlock was taken. John's first clue was that Mycroft's umbrella was missing and his empty hand clenched in thin air looking for his prop. Mordecai immediately sat at the desk and opened the laptop he had carried in with him. He started clicking on the keys as Mycroft dropped his briefcase on Sherlock's chair and paced.

"What happened?"

Mycroft glanced once at John before pulling a file from his briefcase and handed it to John.

"Sherlock went to the local Tesco to pick up a few things and was taken while in the store. We didn't know about it until thirty minutes later when his detail didn't see him come out."

"Tesco? Why did Sherlock go to Tesco?"

Mycroft grimaced before answering, "My brother went to collect washing powder to finish the laundry. He also had in his basket milk and tea. He was taken on the biscuit aisle."

John stared at Mycroft and blinked in shock. Sherlock was doing the laundry? John remembered asking Sherlock to collect his dirty clothing so he could do the washing later. Did Sherlock decide to do the washing for John? He must have and then ran out of washing powder...decided to also pick up milk and tea bags. John put those thoughts aside and focused on finding Sherlock. He would show his appreciation to Sherlock once they found him.

"Did any of them see what happened? What about video surveillance?" John asked and flipped through the photos.

There were images of Sherlock entering the Tesco and collecting a basket. There were a few other images of Sherlock moving around the store.

"None of his detail followed him in. They were told to keep their distance. The market's surveillance consists of twelve cameras. The security guard on duty was dealing with a shoplifting teen which we now believe was a diversion. Therefore, he did not see Sherlock be taken."

John grimaced upon seeing the photos of Sherlock being dumped into a large box hidden among other cardboard boxes. The pallet was rolled into the back storage area and out of the view of the cameras. John snapped the file shut and slapped it down onto his chair as he rubbed the back of his neck. His Alpha was grumbling but knew what they had done in preparation for a day like this.

"His subdermal tracker?"

Mordecai grunted from where he was still working on the laptop. Quickly realizing that Tupton was prepared to do anything to either get rid of John or get Sherlock they had subdermal trackers placed on each of their bodies. Sherlock wasn't happy with the thought that Mycroft could track him whenever he wanted and the only way he would allow it was that John would place it and John would remove it at the end of the case. John rolled his eyes but did it regardless. Mycroft's physician placed the tracker on John in case Tupton tried to eliminate John again.

"Since we weren't planning on Tupton making a move this quickly I didn't have them activated. I'm bringing Sherlock's online now," Mordecai said just as his mobile dinged.

He glanced at the screen before slamming the mobile onto the desk and pressing both of his hands to his face. With a sigh, he dropped his hands back to the keyboard and continued working before speaking.

"The surveillance I had on Tupton has failed. Somehow he sneaked out of his office and I just received a notice that his private plane has logged a flight plan to Croatia."

Mycroft immediately pulled out his mobile and started punching the keys. "Croatia has a non-extradition policy to the UK. We won't be able to use typical legal routes."

"Can we stop them at the airport?" John asked, feeling like he needed to do something.

Mordecai groaned as he leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face. "Sherlock's tracker indicates he's over the Channel. He must be on Tupton's plane already. They're going to Croatia."

He started packing up his laptop with one hand while dialing with his other. "Get your passport, Doctor Watson. We're going to Croatia."

John hesitated for only a moment before running to his room. He grabbed his army duffel bag and started throwing a few pieces of clothing and necessities in. Unlocking his lock box, he pulled out his handgun and tossed it as well as a few clips and box of ammunition into his bag. Finishing with his things, he jogged down to Sherlock's bedroom and did the same. He didn't bother with any of Sherlock's suits, instead grabbing a few pairs of the jeans Sherlock owned but rarely wore. A few shirts, pants and socks completed the clothing. From the loo he collected their travel kits and John also grabbed his more extensive med pack. He trusted Mordecai to have medical supplies but this bag contained meds he knew worked best on Sherlock. Pressing all of it down he finally closed the bag to toss it over his shoulder. Mycroft and Mordecai were waiting by the stairs while John grabbed his coat, keys and wallet. John quickly filled Mrs. Hudson in on what was happening and had to sooth her quickly when she started crying that she was the one that sent Sherlock out for washing powder. Promising her that he would bring Sherlock back, John hurried after Mycroft and Mordecai as they climbed into the waiting town car.

Both Mycroft and Mordecai were on their phones making arrangements as John impatiently drummed his fingers on his knee. They were heading towards Gatwick Airport and Mycroft's private plane. He could only hope that Mycroft's plane was faster that what Tupton had.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock's first sensation was a bone-rattling shiver that raced up his chilled body as consciousness came back to him. The next sensation was a fierce ache in his neck and upper back as well as a dry mouth. His vision was blurry and dim when he opened his eyes to let his gaze wander around him slowly. The vibrations coming up from the floor and the sounds buffeting his eardrums immediately said airplane. His mind was still foggy from whatever drugs they gave him but everything was slowly starting to come into focus. His hands were cuffed behind his back and a chain connected the cuffs to a metal collar around his throat. The tautness of the chain kept his head pulled back and his chest thrust out. A ball gag was clenched between his teeth and buckled into place at the back of his head. He was also nude and his slowly clearing vision could now make out that he was in a cage in the plane's cargo hold. To his left were suitcases strapped to the floor. To his left was a vacant spot but beyond that was another cage with another bound male. Sherlock could hear frantic noises from nearby and figured there were probably other Omegas on the plane that Tupton had chosen as his. He tried not to let his fear get the best of him but it was difficult. He had finally admitted his feelings to John and now he might never get the chance to actually follow through on them. He finally found the person he wanted to bond with and he had been ripped away.

He turned his thoughts back to the predicament he was in. He tested his bonds but there was not enough slack for him to do anything.

He didn't have anything able to pick the locks of his handcuffs. Turning his head, he looked around the compartment and didn't see any sort of guard. Apparently they had been degraded from human beings to pets; only good enough to be stored with the luggage.

Sherlock swallowed tightly and wondered if this was going to be his life. Treated and used as a pet; as a slave. He wondered if John knew he was gone by now. The inside of his bicep, at the lateral bicipital groove, ached where John had inserted the subdermal tracker. Sherlock hoped it was still there and Tupton hadn't found it and removed it. Sherlock's head was pulled far enough back that he couldn't look for any new marks or blood but it didn't feel any worse than before.

Sherlock could only hope that John would find him before Tupton could mark and force a bond on him.

(!)(!)(!)

"Despite having a non extradition policy, the Croatian government will step aside and let us strike against Tupton's location. His plane landed in the coastal city of Pula where one of the companies he has attachments to owns a manor. An eyewitness saw several cloth

covered boxes being loaded onto trucks," Mycroft said as he laid out a map of Pula and photos of the buildings exterior.

"The government is just going to turn a blind eye to us storming Tupton's home?" John asked incredulously.

Mycroft smiled thinly. "Well, after I presented the possible outcomes of either helping or not helping they decided that helping would be far more beneficial to their country in the long run. It all comes down to public relations and how the continent views Croatia."

Mycroft stood and walked back to the back of the cabin where the galley stood. He collected a bottle of water and turned back to see John watching him expectantly.

"Twenty percent of Croatia's gross domestic product comes from the tourism sector. Can you imagine what sort of hit that sector would take if it was widely known that the Croatian government protected the instigator and head of an illegal Omega sex trade ring. That the Omegas were taken from their home countries and sold. Tourism would shrivel up and go somewhere else."

John nodded slowly and could only imagine how the continent would turn on Croatia if that came to light.

"But, if Interpol and the British government issued press releases that Croatia was instrumental in shutting down an international Omega sex ring, their tourism industry has a good chance at increasing simply from those press releases alone. Also the fact that they're not getting any taxes from Tupton and any illegal activities he is doing gives them all the reason to be rid of him. It's worth a few billion in free PR. They gain nothing from protecting him and everything from giving him up."

"Getting them where it hurts the most...the pockets. Vicious, Mycroft," John commented and the look that Mycroft cut him sent a chill down his back.

He had commented back in that warehouse when Mycroft first took him that he didn't seem very frightening. John suddenly felt that he may have been wrong. Mycroft could definitely be frightening if the right buttons were pushed. And apparently Tupton had pushed a big one and it was labeled Sherlock.

"No one steals Sherlock for themselves especially not when he's finally decided to bond with someone," Mycroft commented evenly but both John and Mordecai could hear the repressed fury in his voice.

"Right...Mordecai?" John questioned and looked at the other man.

Mordecai hesitated for a moment before motioning towards the map and photos, "I have the primary assault team from the UK Consulate on loan and on standby. I assumed you would want to go in with them so they have tactical equipment ready for you in your size."

John looked up at him with raised eyebrows and Mordecai simply gestured towards Mycroft. Ah, of course, if Sherlock could read The Woman's measurements of course Mycroft could read John's measurements. John wondered if he should read something into that but honestly didn't have the brain power or patience for it.

"Do we have any idea where in the manor Tupton may be keeping Sherlock?" John asked while looking at the blueprints.

"No. We have the original blueprints but records show that when Tupton had the place purchased he had contractors in to make renovations. So these blueprints could be completely useless."

"Or they could still be fairly accurate," John muttered and looked over the stack of documents.

"True."

A voice came over the intercom and announced that they were approaching Pula International and to please prepare for landing. John took the blueprints with him as he buckled in. He was back in the military mindset and set out to memorize the original layout of the manor. Even if Tupton had renovated the manor the original layout should still be in effect. The plane started to descend and John glanced out the window to the darkening city below. He was going to find Sherlock.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock groaned and tried to curl in on himself but the chain between his cuffs and collar was preventing that. Pulling his legs up only helped to a degree and also exposed delicate areas of himself. When they had tried to pull him out of the cage he had struggled which seemed foolish but he had to do something. A swift kick to his diaphragm had left him gasping and another kick to his ribs had quelled any other thoughts of acting out for the moment. He had been separated from the other Omegas and had two guards on him now. They weren't speaking to him or to each other so he couldn't deduce anything from the topics they spoke about.

A sharp shriek echoed through the room suddenly and Sherlock jerked in surprise. He really didn't want to know what might have happened to prompt that noise from a human being. A metal door opening nearby suggested he might find out sooner than he would like. Steady footsteps approached and Sherlock tried to turn his head enough to see who was approaching him. Polished wingtipped shoes confirmed his assumptions. It was Tupton.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, such a pleasure to have you here in my home. I regret the method of your invitation but drastic times mean drastic measures. I knew either you or Doctor Watson would visit that Tesco, I just didn't know which one. Imagine my surprise when my plant there said you had arrived," he said as he knelt beside Sherlock and ran a hand down Sherlock's curved spine.

A grunt was forced out from behind the ballgag as Sherlock tried to shift away. In a blink one of Tupton's hands grabbed at the top of the chain near Sherlock's head to restrain his movements and with his other hand delivered a stinging slap to one of Sherlock's arse cheeks. The pressure from the collar against his windpipe was starting to make Sherlock light headed from lack of oxygen so he stilled his body and focused on breathing.

"That's right, good Omega. You'll pick up the manners I expect from you quickly. Conditioning will be difficult but I'm sure you'll enjoy the challenge and rewards. All of that will occur after your heat and bonding though. Only 72 hours and then you'll be mine. Won't that be pleasant?"

Seventy-two hours? Sherlock's mind was racing. His heat wasn't due for another two months unless...unless…

Tupton gripped the chain harder and yanked Sherlock's upper body up from the floor. Without hesitating Tupton bit hard directly over Sherlock's bonding gland and held the thrashing body as blood trickled down Sherlock's back and shoulder. Sherlock cried out against the ballgag. It hurt more than he was expecting. Granted a bonding bite should have been done during intercourse and orgasm but even outside of it, if the Omega had accepted the Alpha in question the bite wouldn't have hurt this much. Tupton was going to force a bond on him.

Tupton dropped him back to the floor and ignored Sherlock's soft sobs as the pain expanded from the injured site. His body knew this was wrong. His body knew this wasn't the one he had chosen. Without noticing him, Tupton stood and wiped his bloody mouth with a cloth before tossing it towards a nearby rubbish bin. He stared down at Sherlock's shivering body before looking at the two bodyguards.

"Put him in a marking stand. I have some paperwork to deal with and will start processing the documents for the new arrivals."

Nothing else was said as Tupton left. Sherlock blinked blearily at the wall nearest to him. There was nothing else left. In 72 hours his heat would start and Tupton would finalize his claim. He wouldn't get to see John again. Part of Sherlock wished he could see John one last time. Another part of him didn't want John to see him like this. It would only be worse if he saw him, trussed like an animal and bitten by another Alpha. Unconsciousness was a relief when it came.

(!)(!)(!)

John flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders under the leather gear the assault team had assembled for him. He checked the handgun once again before slipping it into the holster at his hip. Picking up the Smith&Wesson M&P15-22 rifle, he checked the magazine before securing it in place. Holding the rifle with his right hand, he checked the location of his spare magazines with his left and ensured that he could reach them easily when he needed them. Grabbing his black ghillie hat, John firmly placed it on his head before leaving the room.

Out in the staging area, an assault team of six waited while receiving final instructions from Mordecai. They were dressed as John was, in solid black with a wide variety of weaponry. Mycroft looked up at John's entrance and did a double take. John could only imagine what he looked like. Dressed in black leather and kevlar with a handgun at his hip and an assault rifle in his hands. Mordecai glanced over at John as he approached and stepped back to introduce him.

"This is John Watson. He will be accompanying you. He is a trained combatant and has served multiple tours; no need to treat him gently. If he gives any orders that deviate from mine you will follow his. Communication lines from the manor will be severed upon the initial breach and the Croatian government has promised hands off. A sniper team is already in place, callname is Vance. There are an unknown number of hostiles and possibly more than one non-hostile. Any questions?"

"Is priority taking down or tying up?"

Mordecai glanced at Mycroft and paused before answering. "Priority is tying up but taking down is allowed if necessary. Don't risk your own life to secure a guard."

He waited for any other questions before releasing the team. John checked his communication kit and nodded once to Mycroft and Mordecai before following the team out. They loaded into a van and set off through the dark streets of Pula. John was checking his rifle again when one of the other soldiers leaned over.

"So why are you coming with us, Watson? This Tupton guy got your Omega?"

John glanced at the name patch on the clothes, Martin, before looking back to the younger man.

"Something like that," John replied and turned back to his rifle.

"So you were in the military. What branch?"

John sighed before turning to the other man knowing the others were listening. "I'm Captain Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I am also known as Doctor Watson, Royal Medical Marines, trauma surgeon. I can take you apart and put you back together but not today. Today, I'm not a doctor. Today, I'm a soldier and I'm going to be inflicting harm, not healing. Any questions or have I met with your approval?"

John raised his eyebrows as Martin swallowed tightly and jerkily nodded. "We're good, Doctor, uh Captain...Captain Watson."

"Good. Don't get in my way."

John shot looks at the other soldiers and received approving looks. First hurdle crossed. They learned quickly that John had a backbone and he could handle himself. The remainder of the ride was silent until they reached the darkened street which was their drop off point. The sound of the nearby surf echoed down the street and was loud enough to cover any noises from footsteps. One soldier quickly prepped the keylock and spooled electrical wire to the explosives. Four soldiers stood ready on one side of the door and the remaining three stood ready on the other side.

"Vance are we clear to access courtyard?"

It was silent before they heard a soft scuffle on the other side of the door.

"Clear to enter. Access to building is on right upon entrance."

Pressing a button, the explosives in the lock blew with a small bang and puff of smoke. They flooded silently into the courtyard and passed one corpse that fell moment's earlier from the sniper's bullet. Upon entering the door the team of seven split up. John and three others branched to the right and the other three went to the left. Everyone had looked over the original blueprints and had divided the house in half for each team to clear. Memory came back easily and quickly to John from the times he spent clearing houses while in Afghanistan. He didn't hesitate as a combatant came around the corner carrying a rifle, John fired a small burst into his chest and continued moving.

"We have engaged. Repeat, we have engaged," John said once pressing the button on his rifle to activate his throat mic.

That was the signal that they no longer had the advantage of surprise. Speed was now the game. The team was quick and efficient as they cleared room after room. John's team started to enter the older part of the manor which had thicker walls and thicker doors. They broke down a large heavy door and the scent of burnt flesh assaulted their noses as John took in the horrifying scene. One man strung up on a table was shivering with the onset of shock from the smoking brand mark on the length of his thigh. John immediately recognized the person strung on the next table as Sherlock with a man holding the branding iron in readiness. With shocking precision, John fired a burst at the back of his head watching as he dropped the brand and crumpled to the ground.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock started to slowly come to as the pains in his body became too much to ignore. Groaning, he opened his eyes and blinked at the dark ceiling above him. He tried to recoil at the scent around him but suddenly realized that he was securely locked in his current position. His arms and collar were still chained together but now he was raised up on his knees and the back of the collar was attached to a metal arch over the table. His knees were locked into place on the edges of the table forcing his legs to remain wide. Panic coursed through him as memories surged forward, reminding him of another room and being similarly restrained. The position was putting pressure on his windpipe which didn't help him try and control his panic. He sensed someone moving around him and he rolled his eyes to watch as the man walked to the nearby fire pit. From the flames he pulled out a metal rod with various numbers at the end. Sherlock watched as he approached the table to Sherlock's left and a moment later the bound man shrieked and smoke curled up from his side. The stench of burnt flesh got stronger and Sherlock immediately started struggling the best he could. He had to get loose. He had to get away from here and back to John. They were going to brand him. His struggles were so consuming that he didn't notice the man collect another rod from the fireplace and approach Sherlock's side. A large hand gripped his thigh painfully as the brand came closer.

Sherlock jerked as the man's head exploded and the branding iron fell to the floor with a resounding clang. The hot metal glanced past Sherlock's thigh and left a scorch mark. Sherlock choked against the burning pain and struggled to get away from it. The ballgag and collar were seriously starting to impede his breathing and Sherlock knew he was about to hyperventilate or pass out from lack of oxygen. His nostrils flared trying to pull in enough oxygen and his eyes rolled around looking for another attacker or whoever fired the shot.

John and the other three cleared the room quickly. Two of them took up positions to guard the door while John and the last man went to the two bound Omegas. The knees were easy to release and he popped open each clamp one handed before going to the front of the table. John set his rifle on the table Sherlock was bound on and climbed up to kneel in front of him. Pulling off his gloves, he gently cradled Sherlock's face and quietly spoke to him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John. I need you to focus on me. Sherlock focus on me," John said and lowered one hand to Sherlock's

chest to press him up and relax the pressure on his esophagus.

Sherlock could hear John's voice but John couldn't be here. He wasn't that lucky that John would appear and save him at the last possible moment. Panic was clouding his mind but he was registering gentle touches and not a branding iron. John's voice remained steady as Sherlock struggled to bring his mind under control. Maybe John really had shown up at the eleventh hour to rescue Sherlock. He found he was moaning and whimpering almost continually against the ballgag. A familiar face finally caught his wandering eyes and he focused on it with a painful shudder. It was John; John was right in front of him. John smiled upon seeing Sherlock's focus on him.

"Good Sherlock. I'm really here. I'm going to unbuckle the ballgag okay. Just stay focused on me," John said calmly and kept up the soothing stream of words as he shifted the hand touching Sherlock's face to reach around his head.

Sherlock's eyes stayed locked on John and saw him frown suddenly upon seeing the still oozing bite mark. Anguish burst through Sherlock's chest and he whimpered again in distress. John's eyes snapped to him and saw as Sherlock's gaze slid from his in shame.

"It's all right, Sherlock. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it like we always do, together," John murmured and continued to work at the buckle.

Finally it gave way and he gently eased the ballgag from Sherlock's dry mouth. John rubbed the jaw hinge one handed as Sherlock carefully worked his jaw.

"J-John, you came," Sherlock said with a gravely rasp.

John smiled and choke on a chuckle. "I'll always come for you, idiot."

Without another word, John moved his hand from Sherlock's chest to his shoulder to continue supporting him and stood to start releasing the collar from the metal arch. John pressed his thigh against Sherlock's chest to replace his hand so he could work the clasps. Despite the layer of clothing, Sherlock could feel the warmth coming off the older man's thigh and it was beyond comforting. He sighed in relief as the thing attached to his collar released and John continued to hold him up.

"Alright, Sherlock, I'm going to ease you down to the table on your side so I can work on picking your cuffs. Are you okay with that?"

Under normal circumstances Sherlock would deride John for his unneeded concern but at that moment he appreciated John verbalizing everything he was doing and asking his opinion. It felt like Sherlock had a say in what was going on even if he really didn't. He nodded the best he could with the collar and tensed as John climbed off the table and carefully started to maneuver his body. Once Sherlock was laid out on the table, John pulled out a set of lock picking tools and set to work on the cuffs encircling his wrists.

"How are we doing?" John called loud enough for the other soldiers to hear him as he worked.

"Other one is shocky and unresponsive to verbal stimuli. I've bandage the burn for now," the soldier working on the other Omega answered.

"We have no movement at the door. Building is not secured yet."

John nodded as the cuffs finally released and he eased them from Sherlock's wrists. "Someone look around and see if there are any blankets or clothes to put these two in."

John moved Sherlock's arms back to his front and Sherlock hissed in response to the movement. His shoulders burned from the new position but he knew the burn would ease. John moved up towards his head and started to release the collar.

"He bit me, John," Sherlock murmured and stared at the back of the other Omega.

"What was that, Sherlock?" John asked and moved into Sherlock's line of sight.

Sherlock raised his deadened gaze to look at John.

"He bit me. A few hours ago. I'm not sure how long ago; I lost consciousness for a time. I'll go into heat soon and I'll be his bonded," Sherlock muttered and felt depression settle heavily over him.

John chuffed slightly and smiled. Sherlock couldn't understand the smile. Why smile at that? Was John pleased that Sherlock was going to be Tupton's?

"Sherlock, just because he bit you outside of your heat doesn't mean he's your bonded. Trust me, it's not the end of the world for you. We'll talk about it later," John said and gently lifted Sherlock's head to remove the collar and cast it aside.

"But there won't be a later, John. My heat will start soon," Sherlock said with a thread of panic underscoring his words.

"Sherlock, trust me. You will not be his bonded. Trust me."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes at his firm words. He had always trusted John. Trusted his medical opinion and social skills. Why should he start doubting him now? John had never steered him wrong. John seemed very adamant that Sherlock would not be Tupton's bonded. Sherlock would continue trusting John. He nodded before answering.

"I trust you, John. God knows I trust you. With my life," Sherlock whispered and John's blindingly bright smile rewarded him for that trust.

"Alright then. Let's get you out of here."

(!)(!)(!)

Huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed, commented, favorited, alerted. Shout out to MyFirstistheFourth for doing a great job beta-ing this chapter like she always does. Hope everyone enjoyed it.


End file.
